Smoke Eaters: Flash Burn
by Flyboy254
Summary: "You want to know about the Smoke Eaters? Fine, but you'll need to read this story first. Did you read it yet? Course not, you don't give a damn about monster hunters, you probably think vampires are great or that you're one of those 'teen wolf' bastards. Well screw them. You want to learn about what it takes to be a human being, then you'd better read this."
1. Prologue

_The flames burned brightly in the dark autumn night. Curious spectators lined the streets, seeing the row homes consumed like dry wood in a brush fire. Smoke billowed into the night, the heat searing even those across the street. Mothers huddled their children together, as fathers and sons tried to carry out priceless treasures from their old lives back across the sea, from small gold crosses to the only pictures of family long gone._

"_Move away, ye fools, move away!" Looking down the road, the immigrants saw a horse-drawn wagon careening down the street. A pair of Dalmatians barked and snapped at anyone who still stood in the way, even after hearing the clanging bells and shouts of the firefighters. The men on the pumper jumped off, their fire-dogs clearing the crowd away from the horses and equipment._

"_Back now, back the lot o' ye!" the brigade chief shouted into his megaphone, his Irish brogue marking his brigade's former home. "Ya all want to be burned with the houses?! Stand away now! And you lads, get those hoses ready!"_

The firefighters did as ordered, one taking a large hose to a nearby hydrant, two others unfurling a length of smaller hose. The pump on the back churned and groaned, four men pumping to get the water out.

"_My daughter! You have to save my daughter!" Looking to his left, the Chief saw a woman break through the crowd, her husband trying to pull her back. "My daughter's still inside! We couldn't find her in the panic! Please, save her!"_

"_If you'll get back in the crowd, ma'am, I'll do what I can." Before she could utter another word, her husband managed to drag her away, as the dalmatians nipped at their legs. "You dumb bitch," he whispered, before raising his megaphone again. "Garrity, O'Malley, Houlihan, get in there and save the girl."_

"_Aye chief!" Garrity shouted. He and the two other firefighters started grabbing axes and hooks, as their brothers sprayed down the building. "Chief, what floor is she on?"_

"_What floor is she on?" the Chief shouted to the girl's parents. Her father held up three fingers. "Third floor lads, now go."_

_The men did as told, running inside, taking little heed of the smoke and flames. Their skin was roasting, their uniforms doing little to help. When they neared the windows, they were soaked. When they went further into the building, they burned. Their eyes were useless, blinded by the smoke even as they went low to the floor. The stairs creaked and groaned under their feet, and Garrity feared that the rotted wood would fall out from under them. "Miss!" Garrity shouted, looking for any sign the girl was still alive. "Miss, we're firefighters! We're here to get you out!"_

"_Forget her," Houlihan shouted, as a piece of ceiling fell from above onto his helmet. "The whole building'll come down if we don't get out!"_

"_We get the girl out first," Garrity shouted back, holding a hand up to protect his face from a doorway engulfed in flames. "Until she's out, we keep going!" Grunting, the men made it to the third floor hallway, and took to the rooms, breaking down every door. One of the doors exploded in flame, O'Malley jumping back from the burst. Checking to see that his brother was alright, Garrity helped him up and pressed forward through the inferno._

_Outside, the men kept spraying the exterior of the buildings that were inflamed, trying at least to keep the other buildings nearby from catching as well. Families piled out, gathering their younger children as best they could. The Chief kept barking orders to the men, as police arrived to clear the crowd away further. "C'mon boys, c'mon."_

_Breaking open a door in the middle of the hall, Houlihan shouted out, "I've found her, she's over here with a man!" Running over, the other two looked in the doorway to see a man kneeling over the young woman, a small pool of blood under his feet. "You, what the fuck are ya doin'?" Houlihan barked, running over with the others. With a hiss, the man spun around, baring a set of fangs at the men, his eyes as black as coal. Blood was dripping from his lips as he scraped his long, claw-like nails against the charred floor._

_The woman was gurgling for breath, her throat ripped open from the attack. Air bubbles were coming from her dying lungs, the blood from her neck staining the floor and her gray dress. The three men jumped away, O'Malley lowering his hook at the thing as it charged him; the man batted the hook away, splintering the wood in half. Grabbing O'Malley and throwing the poor man across the room, O'Malley let out a yell of pain as he flew into a flaming support beam. As the embers fell on the man's hands and face, he swatted them away, the man-monster turning its attention to Garrity and Houlihan._

"_The fuck is that thing?" Houlihan screamed, holding his axe up, futilely trying to keep the monster at bay._

"_You think I fuckin' know?" Garrity shouted, brandishing his axe as well. "You! You, ya fuckin' prick, what are ye?"_

"_Quiet, sack," the thing hissed, his oily hair spread over his eyes. "You will let me finish and then you will come with me."_

"_Fat fuckin' chance!" Houlihan screamed, swinging his axe wide. The monster simply grabbed at the handle and pulled Houlihan across the room, throwing the burly man into O'Malley, both men showered in fresh sparks and embers._

"_You will respect my strength, bastards." the monster said, Garrity convinced the thing was no longer human. "And now for you." _

_He shrieked like an animal, running astoundingly fast at Garrity. Nearly paralyzed, Garrity swung the axe low, taking the monster in the left knee. The monster shrieked again, grabbing at Garrity's neck, tearing a three inch gouge out of his skin as Garrity fell. With another swing, Garrity took the monster's arm away, the man-monster taking wild swings with his remaining arm against Garrity, as the building continued to burn around them._

_Outside, the Chief saw something the men inside could not: the bricks and mortar outside were cracking and shifting. Fearful, he raised his megaphone and shouted, "Get out, boys, now, the building's coming down!"_

_Garrity barely heard the Chief's yelling, too busy fending off the monster's attacks. Every time he tried to swing at the man-beast, it jumped up and away, only to come back hissing and swiping with his claws. "I'll leave you to roast and fucking die you little shit!" the monster cursed. "Die already, you fucking paddy!" _

_With a shout, Garrity held his axe up, as the monster grabbed the axe and tried to pull it away. Garrity's grip held, though, and he went flying in a circle, he legs lifting off the floor, until his hands slipped, and he went flying into a wall. He tried to focus on getting up, seeing the monster closing in on him, holding the axe in its right hand and it hobbled over on one leg. _

"_You're not worth the blood," it said, raising the axe._

_With a roar, O'Malley shoved his hook through the monster's chest, the very tip sticking out from its front. Garrity was showered with blood, and in its pain the monster dropped the axe. Garrity grabbed for it, taking the heavy piece of metal and chopping at the monster's body. Houlihan joined him, taking the beast apart until before their eyes the body collapsed into dust. Panting, the three stared at the remains, trying to make any sense of what just happened before a part of the ceiling collapsing shocked them back to reality. _

"_The girl!" Garrity shouted, remembering why they were in the building. Running over, the three knew she was dead. Her neck was ripped right open, her blood tracked everywhere on the floor from the fighting. Her long hair was starting to smolder, the acrid stench forcing them back. Her green eyes stared up into the fire, unmoving and uncaring._

"_She's gone, we have to leave!" Houlihan shouted, dragging Garrity to the door. O'Malley was already at the stairs, his hook useless and broken from the attack. Daring to look back, Garrity wanted to do something for the girl, but stood frozen in the door. He thought, for a split second, he saw her standing up, right next to her own body. Her was neck was still open, but it was not bleeding. Before he could make sense of that, another strong tug from Houlihan dragged him away, and the three made it back into the world of the living. As soon as they staggered outside, they began vomiting and hacking from the smoke._

"_What happened in there, where's the girl?" the Chief shouted, two policemen trying to keep the girl's mother back._

"_The…the smoke…it claimed her…" Houlihan wheezed, before vomiting again. "We couldn't do a thing…Christ!" he shouted, falling to his knees, trying to catch his breath. _

_Scowling, the Chief looked at O'Malley and Garrity before going into the crowd. Now it was a matter of trying to help the parents. The mother only saw that the man was walking away from three firefighters, her daughter nowhere in sight. With a loud wail she collapsed into her husband's arms, the roof of the building falling as she did._


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"And that's why you always need a working smoke detector in your house," Capt. Ryan Tillman said, the school kids gathered around the station's engine. "Always check them a few times a year, and replace the batteries often."

"You should also remember to never play with matches and lighters," Firefighter Cole Anglin said, holding up one of each. "I know some of you might like to melt toy soldiers and burn some bugs, but fire is like a dog without a collar. It may look fun, but get too close and it won't end well."

"That's a good analogy," Tillman said, trying to keep his smile up after hearing that. "So who has some questions, anyone?" A forest of hands appeared. "Yes you, the kid with the red Pokémon shirt, what's your name?"

"Tyrell," the boy said, nervously. "My mama told me, she told me that, that firemen don't help black people. Is, is that true, sir?"

Anglin had to turn around to keep from showing the kids how bad he was cracking up, Tillman staring back at the boy. He worked his mouth for a few seconds, not expecting such a question from a kindergartener, but he quickly shook himself out of it. "That is not true at all, Tyrell," Tillman said smiling, doing his best to ignore Anglin's chuckling. "Firefighter Anglin is black, and don't you think he'd want to help black people?" The boy nodded, apparently satisfied. "Okay, does anyone else have a question?"

A little girl put her hand up. "Yes, what's your name sweetie?" Tillman said.

"Mara," she said. "Are you the same firefighters that were on my mommy's magazines?" she announced innocently. Anglin had to walk around the other side of the engine, where he nearly fell on the ground from laughing so hard.

"Uh…I don't think we are…" Tillman said, leaning around the front of the engine. "Anglin, I think it's time for you to answer a question."

Slowly making his way back from behind the vehicle, Anglin was holding his hand in front of his grin for a few seconds before he finally got control of himself. "Okay, I'm fine, kids, I'm fine, just…just had to think of something for a second. Okay you, the little girl with the pigtails, what's your name girl?"

"Caroline," she said, putting her hand down. "My daddy's a cop, and he said firemen are com…compan…making up for something with their fire trucks, is that true?"

Now it was Tillman's turn to spin and laugh, Anglin caught off guard by the girl. "Um, that's a question," Anglin said. "Just tell your daddy that we don't go around putting innuendos out for little kids," he said. "So, a few more questions and then we're done, okay? The boy with the hat, what's your name?"

"Tommy," the boy said. "Do firefighters get married more than once? Cause my mommy said she was married to a firefighter when I was born, but he had to leave."

"That depends on the religion of the firefighter I think," Tillman said quickly, before Anglin could say another word. "Okay, I think we should have one more question before we leave for the day. Yes you, the girl with the yellow shirt, what's your name?"

"Tamara," she said. A twinge of fear was in her voice, a look of fright in her eyes. "Do monsters really exist? My momma says they don't, but I always see this shadow in the corner of my room when I'm in bed."

Both men stopped their chuckling and just smiled at the girl. "Your parents are right Tamara, there are no such things as monsters," Tillman said. "The only monsters you'll ever see exist on TV and in the movies. That shadow's just a coming from outside your room probably. The next time you see it, you just remember what I said, okay?"

Tamara nodded, and their teacher got them moving back into the school as the vice principal walked up. "I'm sorry about those questions, gentlemen," she said, shaking their hands. "I didn't realize the kindergarten had such…interesting ideas about firefighters."

"It's okay, really," Tillman said, smiling. "Believe me the cops in the city are ten times worse."

"Well, my son is a cop, but I won't hold that against you," she said, Anglin chuckling at the way the school visit had turned out. "Have a good day, gentlemen," she said coolly, walking after the children inside the school.

"Oh my God!" Anglin said, still laughing on the way back to the station. "That kid at the start was hilarious! 'Do firemen hate black people'?" he said, putting on a high pitched mocking voice. "Oh man, the new Malcom X ladies and gentlemen, a fellow brother willing to stand!"

"Thanks for the backup there by the way," Tillman grunted, sparing a quick scowl at the younger firefighter. "See if you can't call in a favor with Ashworth, that girl might have seen something in her house."

"Soon as I get the time," Anglin said, his voice instantly growing serious as he pulled up to a light. "What about Miller? When do we break him in?"

"You know how it works," Tillman grunted. "No one goes in unless they know and he doesn't know yet."

"Fine," Anglin said. "But with Jenkins dead we're a man down, and that's always trouble."

"We've been doing fine as is," Tillman said, silently praying for the light to speed up.

"I know, I know," Anglin said. "It's just, you know, a little weird, is all, havin' one man out when we're on a run and all— "

"I said I get it," Tillman growled. "What more do you want, a memo saying, 'Another man is needed for intensely dangerous outside the normal line of duty assignment that could possibly kill him'!"

"It'd be a start," Anglin said, as the light turned green. "Hell, we could at least drop him some hints."

"Yeah? Well, maybe when you're an officer, you can decide who knows and who doesn't, but as long as I've got the top spot, we'll hold to what we've been doing." With that, the conversation was finished.

Letting out a breath, Tillman kept silent as they pulled into the garage of their second home. Philadelphia Fire Department, Engine 74. Their former house was a great brick construction, with a tower that rose above I-95, but in the 50's the city had them disbanded, and then reformed and moved to their current home, in Torresdale. They were a small company, a single engine and ambulance, but they did their jobs well. That said, it was also the home of their battalion, lucky number Thirteen. With Anglin backing the engine in, Tillman jumped out and went straight for his office, more than ready to get to his paperwork. Sadly, Battalion Chief Ryan Reynolds caught Tillman before he could get into his office.

"Hey Tillman!" he said jovially, coming out of his own office. "How'd it go at the school today?"

"Well, I don't know what they're teaching the kids, but I can say that their parents are telling'em too much about certain subjects," Tillman said, trying to wrap things up. "In the end, they liked us, we told'em what not to do, and the kids got their time outta class."

"Great to hear it went well," Reynolds said, smiling. Nodding, Tillman quickly made his way to his office, wanting to skip another discussion on Reynolds' grandkids. It wasn't that Tillman hated the man, it was the fact that he wanted to decompress after the school visit. Despite that, he stopped to see who was where on his way.

At the moment, Kyle Cavanaugh and Patrick Ward were all reading over some reports from previous runs in the kitchen. Cavanaugh had been with the station since the 70's, joining roughly around the same time as Tillman had, though Tillman had chosen to pursue the path of official leadership as opposed to being the leader inside the men. Ward was, of course, younger, and of a similar body style, both with lean muscle and the slim build that seemed to possess half of every Irishman, as opposed to Tillman's growing gut and rounded face, his gray hair thinning rapidly.

"How goes it boys?" he asked, leaning through the doorframe.

"Hey," Cavanaugh said, nodding. "We're just going over these in case we missed anything cleaning up."

"What I like to see," Tillman said. "Anything happen while we were out?"

"Nothing much," Cavanaugh answered. "Did Anglin talk to you— "

Tillman held up his hand. "Don't even go there, either of you," he growled. "If he knows he gets brought in, but until then, I'm getting real sick of this crap about bringing him in."

"Aw, c'mon Cap," Ward said, getting up and walking over to the beat up fridge in the corner. "It's a year later and you're still not gonna give us more help?"

Tillman shook his head. "Not a chance. You both know the rules. You especially," he growled, pointing at Cavanaugh. With that, he started walking to his office, stopping into the rec room. DeFilipo, Vincenzo and O'Reilly were there, watching the science fiction channel. Vincenzo was, as usual, making a running commentary, as DeFilipo tried to just watch the movie.

"Oh, you're kidding!" he shouted, gesturing as he did. Antonio Vincenzo and Thomas DeFilipo were almost mirror images of each other, both with black short hair and rounded faces, but the similarities ended there. DeFilipo was almost always cheerful, and constantly grinning or smiling. Vincezno, meanwhile, almost always scowled and always questioned the whats and whys. "That's not even remotely possible! Volcanoes not work that way!"

"Naw, it could, I guess," DeFilipo said, having a drink of iced tea as he watched. "Given the right circumstances, the lava could flow like that."

"C'mon Tony, you act like this with every movie, even _Dark Knight_," O'Reilly said, taking a sip out of his own drink. "Haven't you ever heard of 'suspension of disblelief'?"

Sean O'Reilly was a big guy, but also a big wimp, in a way. He was always the ones comforting kids or helping old folks out of the burning house. As kind as he was, though, his bald head and trimmed mustache coupled with a good scowl usually kept troublemakers at a distance. More than once, he'd been forced to shove a shouting lunatic away from the engine because the company couldn't get there in time.

"No, but I have heard of physics," Vincenzo said, DeFilipo and O'Reilly groaning.

"You know, you could be more constructive with your time," Tillman said, the three turning to see him in the door. "But that's just me."

"Already checked things over, Cap," Vincenzo said, DeFilipo and O'Reilly savoring the brief reprieve from constant nitpicking. "Even had time to clean the wall."

Looking over, Tillman looked at the clean and polished memorial wall to the fallen their station had given. Pictures and names through the decades, lost in tenements and factories and homes. Irish, Italian, German, with blacks and Hispanics in the more recent years. Almost three dozen men and faces lined the walls, each one a friend or father or brother. Looking over the wall, he paused on the names Greer and Jenkins, and fell into thought.

"You okay, Cap?" DeFilipo asked, pulling Tillman back to reality.

"Nah, just— " Tillman started to say, before the box started to squawk.

"Engine 74, 9516 James Street, Engine 74, 9516 James Street, Medic 57, 9516 James Street, Medic 57, 9516 James Street," the speaker squawked, the station suddenly bursting with activity. Firefighters ran from the rec room and kitchen out to the garage, throwing on their bunker gear and leaping into their engine. Reynolds ran to the SUV, throwing his own gear inside, as the doors rolled up and the sirens blared. Cars on the streets pulled over, as the massive red engine roared through the streets, followed by the ambulance and SUV. People walking about stopped to watch, little kids staring in awe, the men inside the engines suiting up as they roared down towards the river. The massive engine dominated the street like a predator on the roam, as the prey-cars scattered to the side to avoid being run off the road. Looking out his window, Tillman saw the smoke already; a dark column that disappeared the higher it went. It was billowing and shifting like a living thing, ready to consume wood, chemicals, even flesh.

Pulling the engine up to the house, the men jumped out, O'Reilly grabbing the connecting hose and running to the hydrant, his large frame concealed in his bunker gear. Vincenzo was helping Anglin grab hose from the back, looking back at the smoking windows, trying to gauge what to expect. Listening, Tillman heard a faint cry next to the building, even over the questions of the neighbors trying to figure out what was happening. DeFilipo and Ward came up in the ambulance, jumping out and grabbing their first aid gear. "Check the sides," he shouted, Anglin and the two paramedics going to search.

"I found one!" Ward shouted a few seconds later, DeFilipo already running for the stretcher, as Ward knelt behind a series of bushes. With DeFilipo's help, the two came up, an elderly woman crying in pain laid out on the stretcher.

"_Probably the homeowner,_" Tillman thought, as the two brought her over to the ambulance. Running over, he signaled they wait and hold the woman where she was. "Ma'am, ma'am I need some information." Kneeling over her, he took a quick look. The old girl was clearly hurt, and the white residue on her clothes probably meant she had tried to take the fire on herself and failed. "Ma'am, was there anyone else inside?"

"No," she whispered, clearly in pain. "No one." Nodding, Tillman let DeFilipo and Ward take her to the hospital, as he sized up the fire. Location, second floor, quadrant A. Chances that it wouldn't extend were high unless the men were sloppy, considering it was a row home. And Tillman hated to do things sloppy. Life hazard was heavy if there was someone next door. "Vincenzo!" he shouted. "Get next door, check for residents!" Nodding, Vincenzo quickly left Anglin to the hose and ran to the door, knocking heavily.

"Fire department, anyone home?" he shouted. Peering inside, he couldn't find anyone. Nodding to Tillman, Tillman nodded back, and the men got into position to breach the house, as Tillman kept sizing things up. Time had only been a few minutes, weather was clear, construction was 3, solid on the outside, wood frame used in the building, spread and collapse likely, like a candy that was crunchy outside, chewy inside for the fire. Height was a few dozen feet, and area was currently small. Occupancy was a home, and access on the street was open for backup units if they were needed. Internal protection was limited if he was going by experiences before with row homes and old ladies, but water from the hydrant would probably keep up. Apparatus was working normally, personnel were all in working order (and if it weren't for the damn funding cutbacks, they'd be full strength), and the terrain was nothing new.

But frankly, it was simpler to see what they had, where it was going, and what was in the way. They had a small fire that could grow. It was only in one side of the home for now, and standing in the way was a door. Checking the smoke from the window, he saw it was heavy in volume, but not thick and black.

"Ready when you are Cap." Vincenzo said, the men ready in their positions. Nodding, Tillman grabbed his own oxygen tank and mask and fell in at the front, checking the door for heat before moving in. Tillman, as an officer, had to direct the course of the entrance and bringing the blaze under control. Anglin, being on the irons, would make sure they could get anywhere quickly and without any trouble. O'Reilly had already done his job at the hydrant, and had fallen behind Vincenzo to help control the hose. Cavanaugh was going to stick with the truck, monitoring the flow of the water and making sure that the equipment could be moved if need be. It didn't matter that the smoke was coming from the second floor, many friends had been burned back because they forgot the basics and got complacent. Once you lost your respect for the fire, you put everyone in danger. Having Vincenzo check the tank, Tillman got a quick thumbs up.

Opening the door, the men kept low. The smoke cover on the ceiling was light, coming straight from the stairs. Moving forward slowly, Vincenzo and the others kept their bodies as low as possible, keeping their masks off for now. They were for situations where air was scarce, low visibility and the like. But - as Tillman had told them constantly - it never hurt to be ready. The smoke slowly got darker as they came up the stairs, the heat steadily increasing; keeping the hose tight, Tillman's radio crackled to life. "Water's on!" Cavanaugh shouted, as the hose suddenly stiffened. A rookie would be tempted to make a witty comment, but Vincenzo had heard and said them all before, and by now was thoroughly sick of all jokes about firefighters and hoses.

Stopping at the landing, Vincenzo saw the source of the fire and cursed. "Iron plus clothes," he said. Coming up, Tillman saw what he was talking about. Orange flames danced around the room, wallpaper peeling and ashes flitting through the air, threatening to light the rest of the place up. The mattress and sheets were burning, a giant bonfire in the center. Next to that, what remained of an ironing board and the iron that had been left on; the deceptively innocent cause of the problem. Nodding to Vincenzo he backed away, Vincenzo opening up the hose.

The water shot out with enough pressure to force Vincenzo back an inch. If it weren't for O'Reilly backing him up, he might have actually lost the hold on the device, but he knew enough to keep his grip on it. With the closed-in room, he'd chosen a fog stream. Billions of small droplets were smothering the fire with steam, choking it off from oxygen, taking away one of the most vital parts of the fire triangle. They couldn't take away the fuel, that was the entire house, and the heat needed to keep the combustion going would be sapped by the steam. It took a few seconds for the effect to be seen, but then, hissing plumes of steam came billowing out instead of smoke. Keeping the stream up, Vincenzo kept the water moving around the room, hitting as many hot spots as he could. The steam started to dissipate, and Tillman could see that, for the most part, the fire had been extinguished.

When he was a rookie, a fire like this could seem to stretch on for a lifetime. After years of every type of fire imaginable, however, it felt just as long as it had taken: ten minutes from entry to extinguish. But he didn't dare lose his respect for the fire. He couldn't afford to at his age.

Finished, the men broke out their cans and set to work, Anglin taking down the ceiling to check for sparks, as O'Reilly went around the room with a can, spraying water on the sparks they did find. As they tore down the walls and ceiling, Tillman walked outside, seeing the police had pulled up and started interviewing witnesses. "How's is she?" Tillman asked, walking over to the engine, as Cavanaugh wound the pressure down on the pump.

"Fine as always, Cap," Cavanaugh said, watching the pressure gauges fall. "We're good and ready to go just as soon as they're done."

"I swear, these old biddy's are getting worse every month," Anglin said, taking down a section of ceiling. "Last time it was granny trying to set up enough candles for her husband's birthday cake, now it's just forgetting about the iron. Man, they're just getting dumber by the week."

"I guess when you're that old it just happens," Vincenzo said, spraying water on the sparks that fell. "Besides, aren't you being a little harsh? She's already hurt, now you're calling her stupid?"

"Not stupid, no," Anglin said defensively. He went into thought, before shrugging and nodding. "Okay yeah, I'm calling her stupid." Satisfied that the ceiling had been thoroughly cleared, he set the hook down and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "So me and Ward are going to _Molly's_ after we're done, you wanna come with?"

"Nah, I need to get a workout in," Vincenzo said, finished with the can. Quickly gathering their gear, they charged down the stairs, metal and gear clanging and clashing in a cacophony of protection. As they walked outside, they saw Reynolds talking with the cops on the scene about the situation. Quickly, the men set the gear back and went to rolling the hose, as Reynolds radioed the situation to dispatch.

"Hey Cavanaugh, you willing to go a few rounds?" Anglin said, as the men were finishing rolling the hose. Lifting the hose from the hydrant into its well on the front of the engine's bumper, he shook his head.

"I've gotta get home, dinner then working on my thesis," he said, talking about his master's thesis on fire science. "I swear, I'm gonna go nuts working on this thing."

"We all packed?" Tillman barked, walking back from Reynolds and the cops.

"You got it, Cap," Cavanaugh said, as the men started to get into the cab. Nodding, Tillman took his seat and leaned back as Cavanaugh maneuvered the engine out onto the street and back to the station.

With 74 in the garage again, the men piled out as its brakes hissed, checking their gear as they did. Tillman knew from experience that the tiniest breech in their equipment could be a death sentence during a flashover or backdraft. Anglin went to double-check the oxygen tanks, as Cavanaugh attached the fuel cable for the engine along with the battery charger. Vincenzo went over the hoses and gauges, O'Reilly hanging his gear back on the rack. As they finished up, DeFilipo and Ward returned from the hospital.

"Old girl had a broken hip and sprained ankle," DeFilipo said as he and Ward walked into the kitchen. Ward grabbed two granola bars from the cupboard above the dented gas stove, as DeFilipo took a seat at the worn, patched-together plastic table. Catching the bar Ward threw over, DeFilipo unwrapped it and took a quick bite. "Cap filling out the report?"

"You got it," Anglin said, as the men congregated. "So you want to join me and Pat tonight Tim? It's _Molly's_."

"Can't," DeFilipo answered, chewing on the bar. "O'Reilly and I are gonna go over some old reports, make sure everything's in order."

"Hey guys." Turning at the new voice, the men in A platoon saw the station's probie John Miller walking in bushy tailed and ready for to burn the midnight oil. Compared to everyone else, Miller looked like he was still in high school, a few token zits dotting his face and his brown hair a little too long. "What happened?"

"Dumb old lady with a bad ironing habit," Anglin answered, just as he saw Tillman walking towards them. "Sup, Cap?"

"Report's filed," he said, looking the men over. "Probie, what're you cooking?"

"Oh, I've got this great fish dish—" Miller started to say, followed by the swift departure of A platoon from the kitchen.

Eventually the men of B platoon filed into the station. Their two EMTs, Gomez and Carson, were staying in the rec room claiming they'd already eaten. The men on the engine gathered around the table, idly chatting about the day.

"Hey, where's Kitt?" Pete Carroll asked, taking his place at the table. Carroll wasn't what anyone would call a remarkable looking man, but his way of getting a woman to quickly talk about herself, usually coupled with a few drinks, explained the many girlfriends he managed to acquire over time.

"Here," Karl Gruber answered, patting the station's mascot on the head. Gruber was almost the mirror image of O'Reilly, but where O'Reilly was constantly jovial and talkative, Gruber was consistently tight lipped and brief. Sometimes, he'd only answer a question with little more than a grunt. Where O'Reilly usually scowled when he needed to, Gruber wore one constantly, his harsh Germanic features only adding to the intimidation. Kitt, meanwhile, was Gruber's constant companion, usually following the large fire fighter everywhere. Kitt had been a chance find, a pure breed Dalmatian puppy searching for scraps outside the station. To the surprise of them all, Gruber was the first to volunteer to care for the dog. Since then, whenever Gruber was around, Kitt was sure to follow. "We're getting hungry."

"Agreed," Lt. James Donahue said, taking his seat. Donahue had passed the lieutenant's exam a few years ago, and had since managed to earn his place in the station as a much more personable leader, though no less strict when it came to keeping the men in line. Generally, though, his brown eyes were always joined with a smile on his thin face, his brown hair generally trimmed short. "Hey, Probie, what's the holdup, we're starving out here!"

"And it is done!" Miller said, carrying out a large tray of fish, going back for the tomatoes and garlic bread. With relish, the men dove into the food, before hacking and spitting it back out.

"What the fuck was that!" Donahue shouted, staring at his plate. "Tastes like ass!"

"No way!" Miller said, shocked. "I followed the instructions exactly, there shouldn't be a problem at all!" He took a bite, chewing without any ill effects.

"That's what we get from a cooking school dropout," Carroll, narrow-faced and constantly smiling, chided as he shoved his plate away. Kitt took a few small sniffs at the food, and made a hacking noise, turning his nose away as well. Miller looked at them all, confused. Gruber's face didn't move from its usual scowl, and the meal seemingly able to deepen it. Lt. Donahue put as much salt on the fish as he could, then took a bite gingerly. His face screwed up in disgust, eyes bugging out at the strange sensation. Shrugging, Miller kept eating, his own taste buds unable to notice anything wrong with the recipe.

"Anyway, is Anglin still dating that girl? What was her name, Clara?" Papirio, the driver, asked, taking a drink of soda. His bald head reflected what little light the fluorescents had to offer.

"They broke up," Donahue said. "He said she was holding him back."

"Holding him back?" Carroll said, surprised. "If anything she was keeping him up!" he chuckled, Miller and Donahue groaning. "Hey, Probie, you don't have the right to groan yet."

"All the crap you say, he has the right to groan when he wants," Donahue said, getting up to rummage through the kitchen for something edible. "Probie, you're gonna cook until you can do it without making us sick, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Miller answered meekly. With a sigh, the best Donahue could find was a box of chocolate cereal puffs, and with apathy the three men prepared to dig in to the "chocolaty goodness" when the box started to squawk.

"Saved by the bell, huh?" Carroll laughed. Gladly running from the kitchen, the men donned their gear and ran to their vehicles, speeding off into the growing night. Pulling up to the scene they saw an apartment complex on fire, families speeding out and others carrying their only valuable things in the world with them. Police were also on the scene keeping the people back from the burning building. The tenets shouted into the night that something be done to save their memories and lives. The men jumped out and set to work, as Papirio took care of the engine.

"Fires on the third floor, it's eating through the halls like a fat guy through a buffet," one of the copss on-scene shouted. Nodding, Donahue radioed in the situation. Chief Harkins hadn't arrived on the scene yet, so he was in command of all operations. On B platoon, Gruber held attack position, Carroll on the irons, while Miller held hydrant.

"There's no telling if anyone's still up there, I want a room by room search." Donahue said.

"Got it." Gruber shouted, as the men went about their jobs. With Miller opening the hydrant and Gruber grabbing the hose, the men formed up at the entrance, moving inside when they were ready. Their masks on, they navigated the smoke filled stairwell, feeling along the walls to the third floor. When they reached the door to the hall they paused, Donahue checking for heat. Nodding that it was cool, he backed away and let Carroll open it. Flames were already licking at the ceiling and walls at the far end. The cheap stucco was scarred and flaming, the tile on the floor cracking and breaking apart in the heat.

Without a word, Gruber opened the hose and started spraying as the men pushed forward in the hall. Spraying down the doors that were still intact, Gruber stayed in the hall keeping the fire away as Donahue, Carroll and Miller investigated the rooms. As Carroll went to the apartments on the right, Donahue kept Miller close. As the Probie Miller was Donahue's responsibility, and anything that happened to him was on Donahue's head. "Alright Probie, check the door," he said, backing away so Miller could break the door open. Miller nodded, feeling the knob was cool before putting his Halligan bar to good use. Breaking the lock and chain on the door, Miller shoved it open with a little difficulty.

"Anyone in here?" he shouted, entering the apartment. "Fire department, is there anyone in here?" That was when the smell hit him, a smell not unlike old meat and decaying flesh. Holding his nose, he turned to Donahue who nodded, the two sliding on their masks. As Donahue went right, Miller went left. The furniture was clearly ratty, and in the dark and oppressive smoke, it actually looked like it was decaying. Treading carefully so he didn't step on anyone, Miller thought he heard a groan from the bedroom. Stepping across a discarded pizza box covered in maggots, Miller checked the door to the bedroom before he dared to open it.

So when a rotted hand broke the door from the other side, Miller jumped back screaming. Tumbling over an already broken end table, Miller looked through the broken door to see a monster trying to break through. Its right eye socket was an empty hole, its gray hair a few strands on thin, pallid skin. Clutching his Halligan tightly, he crawled backwards on the dirty floor, feeling the bugs crunch under his gloves. The thing behind the door kept reaching, its other arm breaking down the rest of the wood. "Lieutenant! There's something in here!" he screamed, trying to find a way to bring his body up again. "It's - oh God, it's not human, it can't be human!"

The thing finally broke through the door, splinters showering Miller. The creature was clearly once a man, but now it was something else. Its left arm ended in a ragged stump just below the elbow, a jagged piece of skull hanging out on its right temple. Its rotten teeth swayed as it staggered into the living room, Miller struggling to his feet as Donahue ran over. Before Miller could say a word, Donahue grabbed Miller and pulled him away, and slammed his axe into the thing's skull. Pulling it out without any real effect on the creature, which was still moaning and coming forward, Donahue took another swing. He took the creature on the top of the head, its skull cracked open with rotting brains falling across the carpet. The thing took one last step forward before it fell to the floor, Donahue's axe still embedded in its skull.

Pulling it out with a grunt, Donahue turned to Miller. "Did it bite you?"

"N-n-no," Miller stammered. "What the fuck was that thing!?"

"A grounder," Donahue said, helping Miller to his feet. "You'd better get out there; the virus can't stand exposure to heat." Walking over to the body, he grabbed his radio. "Carroll we got a grounder here, Miller just got his cherry popped."

"Shit," Carroll said. Miller's head was starting to spin, a million thoughts and questions buzzing through his head. What was that thing? And why was Lt. Donahue acting so calm about this?

"How is he?" Carroll asked over the radio.

"He's fine, just got some debris on him," Donahue said, before hefting the axe and severing the zombie's head. Looking back, he saw Miller still standing where he'd been pulled up, staring ahead in shock. "What the fuck did I just say, Probie? Get out there, stand near the flames and get back downstairs!"

Miller snapped out of his haze and rushed out to see the others standing out of his way, letting the flames burn. Without thinking Miller nearly threw himself in the fire, desperately trying to burn away whatever covered his body. He faced the fire, then turned and let his back face the flames just to be sure, only to see Donahue walking towards him. He had a piece of wood in his hands wrapped in a t-shirt. For a second Miller started panicking, worried they were going to shove him into the flames for what he had seen. Instead, Donahue stuck the makeshift torch into the fire and lit it. Without a word he carried it back to the room and torched it, the smoke seeping out after a few seconds. The others let the fire burn along the left of the hall, guiding the two flames to meet before putting them out.

Miller numbly fled from the building, stumbling out to see Papirio waiting for him with some water. Miller took the cup, threw his mask and helmet off and started to vomit in a small patch of grass. "That's it Probie, just get it out of your system," Papirio said, putting a hand on Miller's shoulder as the younger man puked in the grass.

"Shit, bad way for the kid to find out," Carroll said, as Gruber focused the hose on the now burning apartment. "I'll start checking the other ones, have you got the hose?"

"Yup," Gruber said.

"Got it," Carroll said, moving from apartment to apartment as Gruber slowly moved forward against the fire.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

After finishing with the scene and Donahue making a very important call to Tillman, the engine rolled back into the station. Donahue noticed that Miller's face was blank and distant the entire ride back, like Miller had decided to check his brain into seclusion for a few minutes as it decided whether or not sanity mattered anymore or to just go nuts. Checking their gear once more they saw Miller leaning against the engine, unable to really move or say anything. He just stared ahead at the equipment rack, still seeing the decayed face leering at him biting and snapping for his flesh.

"Miller!" The voice snapped Miller out of his trance, and he saw Tillman standing at the front of the bay in his civvies. "Get that stuff off then get in my office." Nodding, Miller took his gear off without checking it before hurrying to Tillman's office. Skidding to a halt inside, he saw Tillman calmly sitting at the desk looking through a manila folder.

Tillman's office was lined with wood paneling, awards for the station and pictures of its history lining the walls. Tillman was in a few of them, a younger man smiling widely. The years had clearly taken their toll, and what had been a slim and dashing firefighter had slowly enlarged to become an officer with gray hair that hardly ever seemed to smile. "Shut the door and sit, Probie," he said, not bothering to look up from the papers. "So what do you think happened tonight?"

"I…I don't know, sir," Miller said, shaking a little. His eyes kept seeing the decayed face that had tried to eat him, those yellow teeth snapping at his skin. "I thought I was gonna die."

"Yeah, I know how it feels," Tillman said, nodding sagely. "Miller, did that thing look at all similar to this?"

He slid a picture across the desk to Miller. Picking it up, Miller couldn't believe what he saw. It was another dead man, this one slightly less ghastly looking, his clothes more intact and his skin only a pale gray instead of a greenish hue. Miller couldn't believe what he was seeing. He tried to work out the sight in words, unable to accept that another creature like the one that attacked him existed.

"Near as we've been told it's a virus, though there are others that are something…different," Tillman said, not waiting for Miller to try and say anything. "The viral ones we just call zombies. Makes sense, really. After all, what else can we call'em."

Miller just stared at the picture, noting that there was a street sign in the background. Chestnut Street. "When…when did you…"

"A month ago, around Walnut Hill," Tillman said. "That grounder'd been causing a whole rash of infections in the area. Was all we could do to trace it back to the source." Tillman paused, watching Miller's face carefully. The probie was running a gamut of emotions right now. Fear. Horror. Uncertainty. But there was one emotion that Tillman desperately wanted to see. Something that would prove if he could handle what was about to be sprung on him.

Miller was trapped in his own thoughts for a few seconds. "_So zombies are real. But they can't be real! How can they? But you know science moron, there's something reasonable about this! But then what attacked me? And if there are more of these things out there…."_

There it was the spark. Tillman saw it slowly growing in Miller's eyes turning into a flame, the urge to do something about his situation. "I'll send you home for the night Probie, let you run through your head what you want to do. Don't worry about Chief Harkins, we'll have it covered. If you decide you want to forget everything, we'll help you transfer to another station and you can forget the whole business. If you decide otherwise we'll talk about it tomorrow, got it?"

Miller nodded, putting the files on the desk and shakily getting up and walking out. The others noticed their poor probie had gained a distant stare, and nodding to each other Carroll led the way to Tillman's office. "Hey Cap, you told him everything right?"

"Everything he needed," Tillman said, picking up the phone. "I'm calling Reynolds now. You guys get some sleep, you'll need it tomorrow." Looking at each other, still worried about their probie, the men slowly went to their bunks as Tillman dialed the number.

After a few seconds the other end picked up, a groggy voice answering. "If this isn't a Playboy bunny with a million dollars I'm gonna kill you."

"Sir, it's Tillman." With a short pause, Tillman pressed on. "Sir, Miller was confronted by a dead burn tonight." There was a pregnant pause with the sounds of shuffling fabric on the other end. "He's still moving, and I've sent him home to think things over."

"I'll head to his apartment then," Reynolds said. "Document everything and file it away with the other reports."

"Yes, sir," Tillman said, hanging up the phone. Putting the file back in its place, Tillman walked outside, into the cool night air, to take a quick smoke. It wasn't gonna be easy for Miller, either way. If he went to another station, he'd probably wrestle with what he'd seen for the rest of his life, and die a mental patient at worst. If he did decide to stick with 74…well, no one became a firefighter to make an easy life. Puffing away, Tillman started to rub at the scars on his right arm, a reminder of what had brought him in. There wasn't a day gone by that Tillman didn't pause to think about what the mutt had given him, and it made him all the more cautious about whom he brought in to the cell. Silently musing for a few more minutes he finished his cig, snuffing it out in the night as he walked inside.

He needed to get back to the phone and make a few calls before Harkins got back.

Rubbing his eyes, Cavanaugh closed his laptop and stretched out. He'd been working on the thesis since he'd gotten home, and was surprised to see the sun was already down. Kathleen had already been cooking dinner by the time he'd gotten home, not worn by her work at the state rep's office. The kids were spread across their own rooms for now, waiting for the call of dinner. Yawning, he put his laptop on the couch and padded to the kitchen.

"Hey babe," Kathleen said as she stirred a pot on the stove. "Dinner's done in five, you still hungry?"

"Starving," he said, going over to her and kissing her on her cheek. "How was work?"

"Same," she said, moving the meat around the frying pan. "Old ladies with nothing to do, weirdoes saying that China's gonna take over the world and that we're gonna all end up as slaves to the government."

"Glamour of politics," he said, holding her. "So what've we got?"

"Roasted chicken in teriyaki and spaghetti in alfredo sauce," she said, Cavanaugh stepping back to look at her. It still never quite set in how he'd gotten such a wife. Him, gangly, blocky, with a hooked nose from a particularly harsh fight during high school, black hair going salt and pepper. Then there she was, with her brown hair constantly in a ponytail, her smooth skin a glaring contrast to his pockmarked mug. And her eyes, her great big blue eyes. She'd said that's what helped him fall in love with her. She was a little plump Cavanaugh wouldn't lie, but compared to his own physical state of muscle covered by a layer of gristle and a face like Mars with more meteor impacts, she was an angel.

Turning, she shook her head and laughed. "What're you looking at?"

"The woman of the house who will soon need to do her duty," he said, hugging her as they both laughed.

"Thanks for scarring me for life." Turning, Cavanaugh saw his oldest daughter Colleen walking in from the hall. Colleen had been born sixteen years ago, and so far had matured into a rather flighty girl who never failed to disappear when her friends came to call. "How was work Daddy?"

"One run baby," he said, leaving Kathleen to the stove to hug his daughter. Despite all genetics Colleen had decided to make her hair a light blond and not keep its natural brunette style. "Nothing bad, everyone got away alive."

"What about your new guy, the probie?" Kathleen asked, motioning to Colleen to grab the plates and utensils and set the table. "Miller right?"

"Ah, he's on tonight hon," he said, walking to the table. "He's good so far though, from what Donahue's telling everyone."

"Hey Dad," said a male voice. Turning around, Cavanaugh saw his second child Peter coming in from his room. Peter wasn't a jock, but Cavanaugh was glad to see some muscle forming on his son. He knew his boy had a good head on his shoulders, though his choice of friends left much to be desired. "Work good?"

"Yeah, it was okay," Cavanaugh said, taking his seat at the head of the table. "Where's Eileen?"

"Coming Dad!" Running from her room, his youngest Eileen was walking out in her dance shoes, probably home straight from practice at McCoy. Exactly what the stereotype would predict, she was an Irish dancer with the local school and she was good. Her first and second prizes were everywhere in her room next to her sister's scholastic and athletic awards. Her light brown hair was tied in a ponytail like her mother. "Dinner ready?"

"Just about, grab the milk and go to the table," Kathleen said, pointing to the dining room. And soon, with everything in place and smelling delicious they all bowed their heads and prayed.

"Bless us, oh Lord, in these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from Thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

And so dinner commenced. Eileen had a feis coming up in two weekends, and was worried her dress wouldn't be ready. Colleen had just gotten another honor from her school, and she was practically beaming telling them about it. Peter and his friends were planning to go paintballing, an idea that was briefly and viciously put down by his mother because "You don't have the right safety equipment!"

They were about halfway through the meal when the phone rang. Sighing, Cavanaugh got up from his chair only for Kathleen to grab his arm. "Oh just let it go, we don't need to deal with it now."

"It might be important babe, you know that," Cavanaugh said, leaving the table to grab the phone. The second he saw the Caller ID, he knew. "Cavanaugh house," he said, his voice solemn.

"Miller knows," Tillman said, not a hint of pleasantry in his voice. Not that Tillman had much in the way of pleasantry to begin with sometimes. "Grounder on a run, Donahue got him out."

"Anything else?" Cavanaugh said quietly, keeping his back to the table.

"Not much. I'll keep you posted." With that the other line hung up, and Cavanaugh stood by the phone starting to think.

"_A new guy,_" he thought. "_Even better, it's the Probie!_" A light clicked on over his head (Literally, since it was one of the porch lights right in front of the kitchen window). "_And now, they've got a new man!_" Smiling a little, he looked over at the table and whispered, "I'm finally done!"

"Done what, hon?" Kathleen asked, Cavanaugh snapping back to reality.

"Uh, dinner!" he said, putting the phone back and walking over. "Yeah, I had a _real_ big lunch babe, and I'm finished. Still good though," he said, taking another drink of milk.

"Glad you liked it," she said, leaning close. "But you'll like dessert even more."

The kids made a series of faces illustrating their level of disgust.

"And then, she tell me that I'm just being paranoid!" Anglin said, as he and Ward had some drinks in _Molly's Pub_ in Tacony. Anglin was going on about his break-up, the place was pretty empty, and there was no game on tonight. There was nothing to distract Anglin from his troubles and Ward had no choice but to strap in and listen. "Can you believe that?"

"Maybe she's right," Ward said, taking a sip of his beer. "I mean you told her that it was your money to share, so how can you be surprised when she borrows some?"

"Because maybe I would've liked her to say, 'Oh, I need a few hundred dollars, would you mind?'" Anglin said, putting on a high pitched voice.

"I dunno, you said it so it kinda would stick," Ward mused. The two were nearly polar opposites in a way. Anglin had dark coffee skin and dark eyes, a deep voice that sounded like a bass playing, his face squared and long. Ward, meanwhile, was an atypical pale-skinned, redheaded Irish, green eyes included, with a baritone that almost lilted. It was likely because of his grandparents who actually came from Ireland, and who he spent some time with until they passed. "You make a person a promise, you can't act surprised when they follow up on it."

"But a few _hundred_?" Anglin said, gesturing frantically. "I mean I meant a few bucks, not a quarter of my savings!"

"Then you should've specified, right?" Ward said, trying to defend his position. "You never set a limit, did you?"

"I didn't think I needed to." Anglin said, finally admitting defeat and going back to his beer, only to find it finished. "Figures," he mused glumly. "Hey, D! I need another one!"

As the bartender filled another glass, he slammed a fist on the bar. "I mean, fuck! Who takes three hundred dollars from their boyfriend and says it was because she said she was allowed?"

"What exactly did she need the money for?" Ward asked, nodding to D as the barman gave Anglin another round. "Maybe her mother needed some medical bills paid or something."

"Bullshit she did," Anglin said, taking a drink, scowling. "You know what she told me? She said she'd needed some new clothes because the ones I bought her weren't 'good enough'! I'd spent at least a hundred-fifty on those things, and she's says they weren't good enough!"

Ward shrugged, trying to think of a reason for the woman's actions. To anyone who knew them, that was another contradiction about the two. Anglin, no matter what, always had a wary eye out for trouble, rarely ever trusting anyone he met for the first time. (However, pretty women had a habit of often bypassing his security.) Ward, however, was uncommonly caring towards other people. He was always giving to bums on the street, always helping with charities more often than the other men, and always seen comforting the wounded on a run. "I can't think of anything, then," he said, finishing his own beer and nodding to D.

Looking around the bar as he waited, Ward always felt calm in the place. It didn't have dozens of faux trappings like a chain, nor was it meant to service the party crowd 24/7. What it did have was a history, with pictures of the regulars lining the walls. A few were autographs from the celebrities that would stop by hung over the bar, and miniature "shrines" to the local teams were set up, with the lights currently focused on the Phillies and Eagles. A new one had recently been set up, dedicated to the city's soccer team, the Union. In a way, Ward felt a small touch of pride, knowing that the ones who carried the Candle had a new symbol to rally behind. As for the bar itself, it was a wood paneled affair, a few tables and chairs put up, with a decent selection of brews and food. Coupled with TVs tuned to all-day sports networks and a pair of pinball machines in the back corner, and it was the perfect place for many working folks to call it a day.

Giving a grunt, Anglin glanced over at the door, and his face instantly brightened. "Dude, finally."

Turning on his stool, Ward saw them walking in through the door. A pair of women, twins, by the looks of it, both blond, both well dressed, well equipped, and already looking around the place, though the one on the left had already noticed the two men, pretending to talk to her sister about something unimportant. Quickly, the firemen went back to acting uninterested, though for Ward it was less of an act and more of a habit. He wasn't looking for love, or even a date. He just didn't really care lately. Then, the sound of heels approached.

"Two beers," both girls said simultaneously. D nodded and went to serve them, as they sat on Anglin's left, talking and giggling. Elbowing Ward, Anglin turned to the pair. "You must not come here often, we don't get many girls with heels," he said. "Where're you coming from?"

"A wedding," one of the girls said. "Things were starting to wind down, but we're not ready to call it a night yet."

"My kinda girls," Anglin laughed. "I'm Cole," he said, sticking his hand out.

"Karen," the one closest said, shaking his hand.

"Sharon," her sister said, Anglin making sure to just barely miss Karen. "Who's your friend?" Sharon asked, looking over at Ward.

"Patrick," Anglin said, slapping his friend on the back. Looking up, Ward smiled cordially and went back to his beer. "Ah, don't mind him, he had to deal with a little trouble at work today."

"What do you do?" Karen said, as Sharon got up to go over to Ward.

"We're both firefighters," Anglin said, and instantly Karen's eyes lit up.

"Wow, that must be a really awesome job," Sharon said, sliding into the stool next to Ward. Ward nodded, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, it has its moments," he said, sticking his hand out, Sharon shaking it lightly. "But really, it's nothing special, right Cole?"

By then, however, it was too late, as Anglin was already describing his more "heroic" moments on the job. Sighing, Ward shook his head a little, and turned back to Sharon. She leaning her head seductively on her arm, leaving little to the imagination. "_Must've been a fun wedding,_" Ward thought, taking another small drink. Then, he felt a buzzing in his pocket, and felt his cheeks go red. Knowing he wouldn't be able to hide anything if Sharon looked down, he quickly pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Ward, it's Tillman," the Captain said. "Miller knows, grounder. Are you with anyone?"

"Anglin, sir," Ward said, his voice growing serious, Sharon suddenly surprised by the change in tone. "I'll tell him what happened." Hanging up, he pulled Anglin away from Sharon and leaned in to whisper. At first, Anglin looked like he was about to start a brawl, but his face quickly changed to a serene look. Leaving their money on the counter, the two sped to the door, leaving Sharon and Karen confused, embarrassed, and wondering what they were going to do now.

"So did anyone ever find the witch that caused the exposure three months ago?" O'Reilly asked, grabbing two beers from his fridge. DeFilipo was sitting at the table, going through that very report.

"Nope," DeFilipo said. "And it says the Oracle only said that the witch had been 'detained' by their own allies." Taking his glasses off and rubbing them on his shirt, DeFilipo went back to the report. On the front was a picture of a woman, her light brown hair short and trimmed, wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase. He remembered how it was filled with demons that followed her every order without pause. And that those demons dragged homeless and junkies and hookers back into the case with them, along with a few of the hunters that had tried to stop her. In the end, it had been a force of friendly witches that had stopped her, not the hunters that had been tracking her for months. But what had happened to her was still unknown, even a year later, meaning DeFilipo still woke up screaming in fear from partial memories that snuck into his dreams.

"Yeah, and the Orcale's been _so_ reliable in the past," O'Reilly mused, setting the beers down on the table. Cracking them open, they clinked their bottles and took a swig. O'Reilly took up one of the other reports they'd brought from the station. As with the briefcase-wielding witch, DeFilipo had compiled them all. "Ah, here's a good one," he said, flipping through it. "Remember that run we had with the Mixers?" he asked, referencing a joint run alongside a group of men and women who used a very interesting set of drinks to beef themselves up.

"You mean against that weird sucker church?" DeFilipo asked, taking another sip of the beer. With his Philly accent, it seemed to come out as "sugger". "What about it?"

"There's an addendum, made by Cap, says that the survivors have been seen running with other sugger gangs," O'Reilly said, handing the addendum to DeFilipo. "Seems that they really want to come back and put the hurt on the ones who busted up their little church." O'Reilly let himself have a larger grin at that thought.

"Easy," DeFilipo said, closing the file on the witch. Grabbing another file, he picked up one marked with "Cause Unknown". Flipping through it, he quickly skimmed through, reading on the updates to the situation. Apparently a particularly interesting batch of toys had been running through the hunter world, moving from secondhand shop to secondhand shop. Each owner, usually a child, had been found about a week after purchasing the toys with bones bent and broken at odd angles, if they had their limbs attached at all. Every time the toys were destroyed, another group appeared, pursuing the same ends. There were no spirits, ghosts or demons driving the toys either. "So what do you think of this?" DeFilipo asked, holding the file up.

"Maybe it's the toys themselves?" O'Reilly mused, sipping at the beer. "Just because no one else has found any smoke on them doesn't mean they might not be sentient."

"That's worrying," DeFilipo said, seeing that the toys had been sighted yet again, this time down south near Baltimore. "So do you think Cap's been, I dunno, distracted?"

"Maybe a little," O'Reilly answered. He was halfheartedly reading over a case where it seemed a literal miniature thunderstorm roamed the Valley looking for expectant mothers to zap with lightning bolts. At first, they thought it was a "Presto", a witch, but the indiscriminate attacks quickly put that idea out in the cold. "After the anniversary last week, you can't blame him."

"Maybe," DeFilipo said, finished reading. "But you have to admit, it's still just so, I dunno, weird, him acting all detached." Stopping, he corrected himself. "Okay, more detached than he usually is."

"But it's just that— " O'Reilly started to say, before his cell started to ring. Putting down the report that described how high school sports stars were starting to turn up withered and weak, his face hardened when he saw it was Tillman calling. "What's up, Cap?"

"Miller knows, grounder on a run," Tillman said, his voice flat over the phone. DeFilipo put down the file he was reading, seeing his friend's face suddenly go from calm to serious. "Is DeFilipo with you?"

Without a word, O'Reilly handed the cell to DeFilipo. "Yeah, Cap?" DeFilipo said, listening intently. "Yeah, got it," he said after a few seconds, hanging up and handing the phone back to O'Reilly. "Cap wants me to go over tomorrow with the stuff we have here, talk Probie through it all."

"Think he'll take?" O'Reilly asked, as he put dumped the beers into the sink.

"Well, Cap said he survived, and he already had that 'look', you know?" DeFilipo said, pulling the papers together.

O'Reilly nodded at his friend, shaking DeFilipo's hand as he walked out. Sighing, O'Reilly quickly cleaned up the bottles and plates, washing the plates quickly before heading to bed. Setting his alarm for eight in the morning, he brushed his teeth and fell into bed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day; he was probably going to fill in for Miller.

Vincenzo was finishing his small dinner in his apartment, a quickly nuked meal straight from the freezer isle. The TV went on in the background, the news going on about how the new taxes were driving people up a wall, how murderers were getting off Scott-free. The usual madness. Chewing idly on the processed meat, he looked over to see that the anchor was going on about how the evidence hadn't supported the prosecution's case, and even if it was obvious the defendant was guilty, it was still the law, and that's how it had to work sometimes. Finished, he trashed the plastic container and left the utensils in the sink. Grabbing his drink, he took a seat on his sofa and changed to one of the science channels, clearing away the science and nature magazines on his table for a place to put the drink, feeling his eyes slowly fall as he collapsed into his seat. Idly, he picked up one of the biology magazines and started skimming through it, the main article discussing how certain fungi had been discovered that could possibly explain the werewolf sightings in the late Middle Ages. "_Some of them, maybe,_" he thought, as he changed the channel.

"Stem cells primarily come from two sources; embryonic stem cells, found primarily in early stage embryos, and somatic stem cells, found primarily in bone marrow and the interior of the human tooth."

Slowly, Vincenzo felt his eyelids fall, as the TV kept going in the distance.

"_We've diagnosed her with acute leukemia,_" a far-off voice said, as Vincenzo seemed to be walking down a white, hazy hallway. "_It's metastasized, she has an estimated three months…_"

"Contrary to public opinion, stem cells can be gathered from living adults as well as embryos," the voice continued, Vincenzo opening his eyes to see a brief flash of the stem cells under a microscope. He closed them again, and again, he was walking; as he walked, Vincenzo could just barely make out human figures walking down the hall, but with indistinct faces he couldn't identify. They were clothed in white, but when he tried to ask them where he was, they just passed him by without a word. He couldn't smell anything, but for some reason he felt the air reeked of antiseptic and death. Not blood and guts, though. Not blood and guts, though - a slow, lingering death, like an old man dying of age.

"_We just have to keep faith,_" a weeping male voice said, different from the first. "_We just have to keep our hope up._" Vincenzo couldn't identify it, he just kept moving down the hazy white hallway, towards an open door to the left.

"The abilities of stem cells are literally endless," the voice said with finality, as the credits rolled on the TV.

Finally, Vincenzo entered the room, a bed with a curtain drawn around it in the center, a beeping coming from the inside. Slowly, he walked up to it, and drew back the curtain, and saw a small girl, pale, lying on the bed, asleep. As Vincenzo came to the edge of the bed, her eyes opened, and the heart monitor flatlined.

Barely, she whispered, "Why?"

Ripping his eyes open, Vincenzo shot up in his chair to hear the phone ringing. Shaking out of his shock, he grabbed at it without seeing who the caller was. "Yeah?" he grunted.

"It's Tillman, Miller knows," he heard, Vincenzo jumping up. "Grounder, he's still moving."

"What should we do?" Vincenzo asked, turning off the TV.

"Hold for know," Tillman answered. "I'll call later."

Nodding, Vincenzo hung up, and went to bed, his mind running through everything he'd already encountered to help the Probie. He'd be damned if he let his nightmare come to life again.

Miller was sitting on the edge of his couch when the bell to his apartment rang. Jumping up with a yelp, he brought his senses together, walking to the bell. "Who…who is it?"

"Chief Reynolds." Miller let out a small sigh, but still kept his slight paranoia. "I want to talk with you about what you saw tonight, Probie. Let me in?"

"S-sure," Miller said, buzzing his chief in. After a minute's waiting, Miller nearly ripped the door from its hinges at the first knock. Reynolds backed up, a little unnerved by the Probie's reaction. However, compared to some of the others he'd seen over the years, it was rather subdued. "I guess you didn't quite get over things yet," Reynolds said, noting that Miller was still in his uniform.

"Sir, what was that," Miller said, going back to his couch, staring ahead at the blank TV. "It shouldn't have been moving. It couldn't have been moving. It was dead, it had its brains exposed, and it was still moving. How does that even begin to make sense?"

Reynolds made sure to note the sounds of hysteria edging into Miller's voice, ready to ease it down. "Easy, kid, there's plenty of diseases out there that'll do the same thing to you in time. Rabies, for example. That's a zombie maker of classic proportions."

"But...that's…." Miller stewed in thought for the words, trying to grab at the phrase he was looking for. "It just shouldn't happen!"

"You're right, it shouldn't," Reynolds said, taking a seat next to Miller, trying carefully to let Miller steer the conversation. "But it does, doesn't it?"

"But how!" Miller shouted, shooting up from his seat. "That shit does not happen in real life; zombies do not exist, people don't start walking after they're dead!"

"Sherlock Holmes said that, when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, right?" Reynolds mused, leaning forward. "Probie what you just saw tonight was a tip of just one iceberg. That one zombie could have eaten through that entire apartment block before you stopped it. You did right, and you should feel proud."

"I just saw a real zombie, and you're telling me to feel good after saying there's more of those things out there!" Miller shouted. Reynolds just took it all in stride. He'd seen the reaction before, and so far, Miller was shaping up nicely. "So what, are vampires out there too?" Miller asked, stopping in his tracks.

"I've killed two, myself." Reynolds said. "And then there are the werewolves."

Miller stared at his chief like he'd grown a second head in the last minute. "Yes werewolves. Bet you didn't know Fairmount Park had dozens of them in the seventies, did you?"

"How…the news—" Miller stammered. Reynolds just held up a hand.

"We can't go to the news with this stuff, probie, because it's too much trouble," Reynolds said, letting out a small sigh. "You really think people would understand killing a werewolf?"

"Yes!" Miller shouted. "If the people knew, then maybe none of this would happen!"

"And maybe they would use it for themselves," Reynolds said quietly. "If people knew that they could live forever, how many do you think would be desperate enough to go for it?" He waited for the silence to grow before going on. "If people knew they could use magic to make their own lives better, do you think they would keep from using it for the wrong ends? How many rapes and killings do you think would happen if people knew how to become invisible?" Reynolds stopped, realizing he was leading the conversation away from Miller's own choice. "Basically, it's your call whether you want to stay on, Probie."

Getting up, he checked the apartment to make sure there was nothing overtly obvious that could be used to commit suicide, and then stopped at the door. "I'm not gonna force you Probie, no one will." With that, he left. Standing outside, he listened intently, praying he wouldn't hear a chair falling or a body falling to the floor. After a half hour, he decided that he'd waited as long as he could and left, going back to his wife to sleep the rest of the night away.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As the sun rose again above the city, the men quickly rose from their bunks and showered, worried that there was no news of Miller yet. Slowly they went about their business, dressing, shaving, fixing their food. It was a feeling they developed, a sort of sense of when a day would be filled with call after call, or a quiet, almost boring day. (Not that they would complain about a lack of fires.) Carroll, finished with his shower, dressed at his locker. Looking around and seeing no one, he grabbed a small silver flask from behind his clothes and took a sip, wiping his lips and popping a mint afterword.

Donahue was just sitting at the kitchen table, reading about the fire from last night on his phone. There wasn't any mention of the body, but then again there wouldn't be, considering he'd made sure that the apartment had burned to ash. Still, there might have been others infected, slowly morphing into disease carrying robots. Maybe there was a way to track the ones who were infected, but until they showed the signs, he was a murderer if he took them out. The debate raged in his head as he scrolled through the rest of the news

Gruber just sat in the rec room, petting Kitt's head. The TV wasn't on, he didn't have anything in his hands, he just sat on the couch, petting Kitt. Kitt went along with it, putting his head on his owner's knee. The dog perked up at Carroll leaving the bunkroom, stepping into the kitchen and grabbing some breakfast.

"So do you think he'll transfer?" Carroll said, pouring himself some cereal.

"I wouldn't blame him," Donahue said, sitting in his own place. "After what I saw my first time, I wanted to just leave it all behind."

"Amen," Carroll nodded, pouring his milk into the bowl. "What about Cap? He say anything?"

"Nothing yet," Donahue said, starting to eat. "But I'll say this. Kid's gonna have a helluva time dealing with this crap." Chewing, he looked over at Gruber. "What do you think, Karl?"

"He'll stick," he said flatly, scratching Kitt's head as he ate.

The sound of a car pulling up drew the others from their breakfast, and they looked out, expecting to see Miller walking in, determined to get more answers. So when Papirio walked in, carrying a coffee and donuts with him, they looked back down at their cereal, Kitt laying his head down on Gruber's lap.

Then another car pulled up, and seconds later, Miller walked in, dressed in civies with a determined look on his face. Donahue jumped up, heading the probie off. "Whoa Miller, ease up now. You'll want to talk with me until Cap comes in."

"I want to know what that thing was, sir," Miller said, not bothering with any pleasantries. "If those things are out there, I want to know what they are; I don't want to be caught off guard like that again!"

"Easy there, kid!" Donahue said, blocking the offices from Miller. "Listen, sit down, have some food and we'll talk this over, okay?" Donahue was worried by Miller's silence, but let out a sigh when the probie took a seat at the table. "Glad to see you're still listening."

"So what was that thing?" Miller asked, as Kitt happily trotted over to nuzzle the probie's hand. "That was really a zombie?"

"A grounder," Carroll said, finishing his cereal. Miller looked at him, trying to make sense of the statement. "A dead burn," Carroll repeated, getting up. "Look, here's not the best place. We'll call the Cap, have him come down here and explain things, but until then?" Carroll shrugged, setting his dishes in the sink. "Relax, shoot the breeze, and maybe even help us with the chores, huh?"

Miller shook his head, staying in his seat as the others got up and went about their business.

"What's with the probie?" Papirio asked, filling up the water cooler on the engine. "It looks like he's ready to rip someone a new one."

"He's still getting over what he saw last night," Donahue said, walking by, loud enough for Carroll and Gruber to hear what story to tell Papirio and the others. "Who really expects to see a freaking corpse on a call, huh?"

"Ah," Papirio said, finished filling up the cooler. "Yeah, that would ruin anyone's night." Hefting the cooler up, he set it back in the engine, then walked over to talk with Miller, smiling as he sat down. "So are you feeling okay Probie? That corpse didn't mess with you too badly, did it?"

"What?" Miller said, confused. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Donahue making a rolling motion with his hands, and got the message damn quick. "Oh yeah, that," he said, chuckling. "Ah, no, I'll be fine…it's just something I didn't expect to see. A dead body, and the bugs were getting at it too." Miller shuddered.

"Well, that's something we'll just have to work past," Papirio said, still smiling, as the rising sun reflected off his balding head. "Just call me if you want to talk about it, alright?" Miller smiled and nodded, trying to keep what apparently happened last night straight.

Pulling up to the station, Tillman stepped in to see Donahue and Carroll waiting for him. "Where is he?" he asked, Donahue pointing to the kitchen. Walking over, he heard Papirio's voice, and silently thanked God Miller hadn't been seen by Chief Harkins. "Morning, Pap," he said, nodding to Papirio. "Probie, want to talk about last night?"

Miller nodded, silently getting up and following Tillman out the door, then into Tillman's truck. The silence seemed to stretch on for an eternity before Tillman finally started talking. "So how're you feeling?"

"Confused. Tired. Frightened. Hungry."

"Angry?" Tillman asked. Miller started to shake his head, but chose to nod. "Crazy?"

"Yes!" Miller shouted, quickly reining himself in. "I mean, what the fuck was that, a fucking joke?!"

"Someone's idea of a joke, I guess, but it's not funny," Tillman said, starting the truck. Backing out, he drove Miller to the waterfront by Pleasant Hill. There was hardly anyone on the roads that early in the morning, the sun cresting over the horizon, giving everything a golden tint. A few people were walking back from their late night shifts, as kids started to congregate at corners for the bus.

The park itself wasn't the greatest in the city. The grass was barely kept neat, and the baseball diamond was overrun with weeds, the hard surfaces littered with graffiti and trash. A bum stretched out under the shade of the trees, gathering up his bedding and getting ready to move on before people could call the cops on him. More pieces of graffiti littered the trashcans and streetlights, but nothing that looked gang related.

Parking the truck, Tillman jumped out and shoved a cigarette in his mouth, hearing Miller get out behind him. Standing towards the river, Tillman lit up and exhaled. "What happened last night was a grounder, Probie. Dead flesh animated into something not quite right." Miller didn't speak, so Tillman kept talking. "We've made our own little language, you know? Keeps people from thinking we're nuts. It's worked so far." Another breath, and no comment from Miller.

"So I'm guessing that, by coming back, you're still willing to run with 74?" Miller nodded. "Good." Getting back into his truck, they drove back to the station and quickly walked to Tillman's office, keeping an eye out for Chief Harkins. "One key thing to remember, Probie, this isn't official, understand? We do this crap on our own time, so you want to sign up for comp, good fucking luck."

Opening his office, he dived into the sheer mass of files he'd gathered, and started handing them to Miller. "Take that home and read up as best you can. I'll call DeFilipo to come look over them with you, get you up to speed." Freezing, he heard Harkins' voice calling Donahue over, and he cursed. "Great! Probie, get the fuck home, do not lose _anything_ I've just given you, understand?" Miller nodded. "Good, now get the fuck going!" Quickly, Miller moved towards the doors, as Harkins voice closed on the office.

"He's in here, isn't he?" Harkins growled, turning the corner to see Tillman. "And what a shock, I was right." Tillman nodded to his superior. Chief Brendan Harkins always reminded Tillman of those villains from old movies where the bad guy was an emaciated husk with little hair left on their heads. Sure, Harkins had always proven himself as a competent officer, but it seemed that with promotions came bitterness, which Harkins had in spades. "What're you doing here, you're not on call."

"Just came in to take care of some filing," he said, shutting the drawer he'd just grabbed everything from, hearing Miller drive away. "I'll get out of your hair now, sir."

"You were doing it again, weren't you," Harkins mumbled, his hazel eyes boring into Tillman. "Tillman, I still don't know what exactly you're running out of this house, but when I do, you'd best believe I will make you all accountable."

"Understood, sir," Tillman said, nodding as he got up to leave. With another sneer, Harkins stormed back to his room, Tillman hearing the flying monkeys as the Chief walked away. Quickly, he got into his own car and called DeFilipo. "Tim, it's me…Yeah, he's got the files…20 minutes, got it." Hanging up, he set his course back to his home.

A half hour later and Miller was in his apartment again, holding a beer he hadn't drank, staring at pictures he couldn't believe, almost wouldn't believe were real. A black and white photo of a group of men surrounding a blurred out woman with a pile of ash where her legs were supposed to be, her face apparently contorted in pain and fear. A wolf…thing? That was the best description he could think of, being hacked to pieces by axes and machetes as it writhed on the ground in a grainy late 70s Kodak picture. File after file, each one more bizarre, more terrifying than the last. A picture of a woman with grass on her head instead of hair, her ears turned into mushrooms. The ghost of a man with his entire stomach visible to the world, or was it a ghost? Each question made Miller's head throb more and more, until he realized someone was knocking at his door. Quickly throwing everything back into its folder and shoving them under the couch, cautiously approaching the door, trying to ignore his shaking. "Y-y-y-yeah?" he stuttered, keeping a foot away from the door.

"Miller, its DeFilipo." Sighing, Miller opened the door and motioned his friend in, leaning back against the door as it closed. "You look well on your way to understanding things," DeFilipo said, putting his coat on the table and taking a seat, putting a fresh pile of files on the table. "Cap told me you would need help, so here I am."

"Help?" Miller chuckled nervously. "Yeah, I'll need help, alright, after what's going through my head." He shuffled over to the couch, pulled the folders out from underneath, and collapsed. "So…you know about this…stuff too?"

"There's ten of us total," DeFilipo said quietly, moving the beer away from the folders. "Both Cap and Lt. Donahue know, so do Cavanaugh, Carroll, Gruber, Ward, Anglin, Vincenzo and O'Reilly." He looked over to see Miller staring at him in shock. "Yeah, I had the same look when I found out what was really going on," he said, sorting through the folders. "But eventually you learn to deal with it in your own way." Seeing Miller was still shocked, he put a firm hand on the probie's shoulder and stared into him. "But we're gonna be there for you, Probie. Don't ever doubt that for a second."

Miller nodded slowly, and then shook his head violently, trying to think straight. "So that thing Lt. Donahue killed, that's a 'grounder'?"

"That's what we call it," DeFilipo said, grabbing the proper file. Opening it, he pulled out a photo of a body well into a state off decay. The clothes it was wearing were starting to fall apart, its face missing teeth, an eyes, and assorted bits of skin around the nose and ears. "They're basically zombies we run into from time to time. They aren't usually intelligent, and the ones that are we don't find in large numbers. Just bash their head in and you'll be fine, just remember that where there's one, there's usually another dozen waiting in the wings."

Miller looked at the picture of the zombie, and felt the bile starting to rise in his throat. He'd only ever seen dead bodies when they were nicely prepped by the undertaker, seeing two in such a state in such a short time was just getting nauseating. A sudden rush of memory overtook Miller, and he could see the monster standing over him again, dead eyes looking at him like he was nothing more than food. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he jumped a little, then remembered it was just DeFilipo, and let out a sigh.

"Don't get relaxed just yet, Probie, we've got a ways to go," DeFilipo said, pulling that file back and pushing another forward. "Grounders you can kill easy when there aren't a lot, or if they're dumb. This is what happens when they're smart."

Shakily opening the file, Miller had to run to the bathroom just looking at the many pictures inside. Waiting patiently, DeFilipo looked over the file himself, and the photos of the many mortal servants of the vampire that were turning old in the picture. If he had to guess, DeFilipo would say that it was because of the way some of the ghouls looked. Leather, chains, scars, open wounds and burns, in no particular order. Getting up to get a drink of water, he thought, "_If he's puking now, wait until he keeps going._"

Stumbling out of the bathroom, wiping at his chin, Miller looked numbly over at DeFilipo, then at the files. "Lots…"

"Yeah," DeFilipo said, getting a cup and turning on the tap.

"Worse?" Miller asked.

"A lot," DeFilipo said quietly, turning off the tap and sipping at his water.

"Could I…" Miller whispered.

"We all can," DeFilipo mumbled back, dumping the rest of the water into the sink. "C'mon, you need to look over our reports on the demons of lust who— " A split second later, he heard more vomiting.

Sufficiently puked out, Miller stumbled back to the couch, DeFilipo offering a glass of water. Taking it, Miller tried to keep steady, but DeFilipo could see the shaking his hand was making on the water. "How…How do I know I'm not crazy?" Miller blurted out, some of the water dribbling down his chin.

DeFilipo smiled, his round face and glasses making it look more like a grandfather teaching his grandchild some important lesson about life. "Probie, I'm still questioning whether or not I'm still all there," DeFilipo said, taking his glasses off to polish them. "Every day, I still ask myself whether or not all of it just means we're nuts, all of us do." Finished polishing, he put his glasses back on and started going through the files randomly. "But these things are real, Probie. Every vampire attack, every witch's spell, every single strange happening, we have to question, because we don't know whether or not it's dangerous. But sometimes we're the only help a person has when it comes to these things. Cops can't help, because the government won't admit these things exist." Miller's eyes nearly flew out of his skull, and DeFilipo nodded. "Oh yeah, they know. But we know too." Finding the files he was looking for, he opened it and handed it to Miller. "And you'll learn real quick that a zombie is not the craziest thing out there."

Taking the file, hands still shaking, Miller's first sight was of a lump of flesh, covered in tentacles, lying on the banks of what he could only assume was the Delaware. The photo was black and white, but the surrounding blackness suggested it was taken at night, and the axes suggested it had met a violent end.

"That was before even Cap," DeFilipo said. "The file says it was found slithering out of the river near the Betsy Ross, tried to grab a dog and…well, let's just say that dog never looked at the opposite sex the right way again." Barely paying attention, Miller started to read the description, as DeFilipo ploughed on. "It'd apparently been responsible for a number of recent assaults in that area, and when they used the right bait, the monster was easy pickings, just surround it and kill it. What scares us is that we don't know if it could breed or not." DeFilipo started to go on, but seeing Miller, staring intently at the description of the victims of the attacks quickly silenced him. Waiting, he spoke again. "We heard that another one was sighted, but another cell found an offspring and killed it too." He let that sink in. "So you know that these things aren't invincible. None of this stuff can live forever."

Miller kept staring at the monster. The closest approximation he could make was to a squid or octopus, but there were no eyes he could find or any mouth on the beast. But that little tidbit in his head that made him want to know had grabbed on to what DeFilipo said about the fact that these monsters could be fought and killed.

DeFilipo was doing the same thing Tillman and Reynolds had done before. The flame was stoked now, and slowly it was starting to catch. The way Miller was staring at the page it looked like he was going to burn a hole through it and down to the table. The few sparks from the night before were catching onto all the questions and doubts that Miller had. There was a growing fire in his gut, one that could only be quenched by getting answers. He'd had it before, every member had. Putting the file down, Miller held his head in his hands and whispered. "What happened to you?"

DeFilipo laughed a little, and crossed his hands. "Oh man! Remember what I said about still thinking I'm a little crazy?" He shook his head. "It was about two years ago, I was done being probie, I was in. I was done for the day, on my way home for the weekend." His face started to go distant, out into the past. "I was going down 13, on my way to visit a friend, just outside of Bristol, and I remember…."

He searched for the words, moving his hands in a circle around each other. "This guy just appeared. I mean one second I had a clear road, the next there he was, standing in the middle of the road with these, these robes on. I didn't believe it, I just…." His hands moved clockwise a little, like they were on a steering wheel. "I ran my car into a ditch, and I stumbled out, and he started walking towards me, like he was gliding." DeFilipo's eyes kept going further into the past, unable to break away from the memory. "I asked if he was okay and then, I felt these hands grab me, two on my arms, one on my legs. I tried to struggle away, but their grips were like vices…I couldn't move, I was panicking." Slowly, the smile faded from his face, replaced by a growing fear. "I saw him, I saw him pull a small dagger from his cloak, and I tried to scream but they duct taped my mouth." Idly, he brushed a hand across his lips and went on talking. "Then he started talking, calling down fire, and, and despite it all I thought 'He can't make fire, I'm gonna be killed by a moron'."

DeFilipo paused, his eyes going glassy. "Then this guy froze and he looked at his hand and…He started to scream, and I know, it shouldn't have happened, I know, that it doesn't work at all, but his hand started to smoke." Miller didn't say a word he just kept listening. "He started to scream and he dropped the dagger. He tried to call his people for help, but they just stood there, holding me down. The smoke kept spreading, first over his arms, then to his neck…then his hands lit up, and he started to burn, he started to scream, to yell, but those people didn't move, and I just kept thinking 'This isn't real'. He only screamed louder, the flames just burned brighter, but…I couldn't feel it." Miller was frozen, staring intently at DeFilipo, waiting for the next part.

"I…I should've felt it, it was burning so hard, so bright, but I couldn't!" DeFilipo's voice kept going lower, until he was barely able to whisper. "There were no sparks or embers falling from his clothes, they just…they just burnt away. He tried to stop and roll but that didn't do a thing." Taking a long dry gulp, he started to finish. "When it was finally over he was nothing but charred bones. The three people holding me down they…they blinked, they pulled me up, they ripped the tape off, they asked me what year it was, and I told them. They said they were members of a witch's cult." He frowned heavily, his voice returning to normal. "The guy who tried to stab me used to be their leader. They said he went bad, tried to sacrifice them for power, that they didn't stop him in time, and he trapped them…trapped them in their own bodies for two years. Then they just picked up the bones and said 'The Exarchs do not rule all. Call on them when you need aid.' And they just walked away into the night."

The two just sat in silence after that, Miller staring intently at DeFilipo, DeFilipo furiously wringing his hands. Neither man moved, like there was a sacred act being performed, and that by moving, they would interrupt it and destroy its power. Slowly, though, Miller turned his head to look at the files again, and slowly picked up another. Opening it, he read it was about something described as a "wildfire". "So what's this?" he asked. "Something to do with parks?"

"I wish," DeFilipo answered, breaking out of his trance. "I'll explain it with the others, right now you need to get out of the house." Gathering up the files, he looked around and saw the clock on Miller's wall read 10:04. "First things first, you need to get to Church."

"Church?" Miller asked, before DeFilipo shoved him into the bathroom.

"Get scrubbing, Probie, we're burning daylight!" DeFilipo said, putting all the files into one large binder.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

A quick shower later, Miller was being hurried out of his apartment and into DeFilipo's pride, a Ford Mustang painted in green with gray stripes, based on his favorite Marvel girl. Putting the binder inside the glove compartment, he started the engine as Miller climbed inside. "So…you said church?" Miller asked, as DeFilipo pulled the car out onto the street.

"Oh yeah," DeFilipo said, as the two passed row home after row home. "What, you really think the Church of all people wouldn't know?" DeFilipo gave a little smile as he pulled up to a light. "Probie, I'm frankly still surprised the whole world doesn't know by now," he said, pulling to a stop.

Looking around, Miller did notice that the world had become a new shade. Every alley could hold a vampire waiting for a victim. Every whisper in the air might be a ghost looking to cause mayhem. His mind was filling up with worries and fears that he shouldn't have to even imagine. Glancing over, DeFilipo turned back to the side and let Miller run the course.

Then, a flash of blue light caught his eye, and he groaned. "Shit. Probie, just follow my lead, okay?" he said, as he looked in his mirror to see a uniformed officer of the Philadelphia Police Department walking towards him, his partner waving the traffic by as the light turned green. "Morning, officer," DeFilipo said politely, as the man came to the window. "Was I doing something wrong?"

"No, not yet," the officer said, Miller standing stock still. "But last week, that's a different story."

"Hey, that ghoul wandered into our area, we were completely justified in destroying it." DeFilipo said, his calm façade quickly turning to dust.

"No, you didn't, because that ghoul was a protected witness," the cop argued. "We were all set to lock that case up and then he escapes, and you morons gun him down. Now we barely have a case at all."

"Look, we said we were sorry, but you should have contacted us sooner!" DeFilipo said, doing his best to keep his voice down. "You have the number, you should have let us know what was happening."

"And let that sugger find where his little blood bag was running?" the cop laughed. "Fat fucking chance Bookworm."

"At least we knew that we had the right target this time, officer," DeFilipo growled, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. The cop put a hand on his holster.

"We already told you guys, it was an honest mistake what happened to that kid, but it was his damn fault for dressing like that," the officer barked. DeFilipo and the cop glared at each other for what seemed like an eternity for Miller when the light turned green again.

"Have a good day, officer," DeFilipo said, quickly speeding off before the cop could get a word in edgewise.

Looking back, Miller saw the cop start to yell, but quickly contain himself and stomp back to his cruiser. "What was that all about?" he asked.

"Probie, those were guys like us, just way bigger assholes, understand?" DeFilipo growled. "Don't talk to them unless Cap tells you to, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, got it," Miller whispered, as DeFilipo sped through the streets to church.

"Damn, they've got a newblood," Officer Tomaso said, getting back into his cruiser. "Shit, didn't they just lose a guy last year?"

"Yeah," his partner, Officer Ortega mused. "How'd they do it? I thought Tillman put a strict rule in place, 'No one in unless invited', right?"

"Weird," Tomaso said, pulling the cruiser out into traffic. "Check the Forum, see if he's posted on it yet."

Pulling out his smartphone, Ortega quickly logged on to the webpage that his cell belonged to alongside the men at 74. Scrolling down, he pressed "New Members", and quickly read through the latest posts. "Nothing, 74 hasn't posted yet."

"So they still have to pull their tradition," Tomaso said, finally understanding. "Well, we'd best not follow. That's not our jurisdiction." Smiling, he pulled in the opposite direction, driving back towards his usual patrol route.

After a short drive to Mayfair, DeFilipo pulled up to St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic church. "Alright Probie, we're about to meet Fr. Raju, so be respectful, okay?"

"Sure," Miller said, nervously getting out of the car and following DeFilipo to the rectory. Sparing a glance, he couldn't help but feel underwhelmed by the church. Sure, most of the churches in the city weren't huge, but this one still felt underwhelming. The masonry on the roof was worn by age and weather, the walls chipped, with small patches of grime and soot on the sides. Scaffolding was set up around the left side, as workmen tried to salvage what they could from the decaying building. The rectory was a more modern affair, square brick construction with small barred windows. Ringing the bell, DeFilipo whistled to himself, Miller looking around nervously, fearing something was going to leap out and drag him away.

"Hi," said the young girl who answered the door. "Help you?"

"Yes, is Fr. Raju in?" DeFilipo asked, stepping inside, Miller following closely. "We both need to talk with him."

"What's your name?" the girl asked with a smile.

"Mr. DeFilipo," he answered. "It's about some volunteer work."

The girl nodded, starting to walk back into the rectory, stopping at the hall door and looking back at Miller. "Hey, is he okay?"

Surprised, DeFilipo turned around to see Miller standing perfectly still, arms stuck at his sides, eyes darting nervously everywhere. "He's fine, he just gets panic attacks when meeting new people. It'll pass." Nodding, the girl went back, calling for the priest. "Probie, seriously, calm down, these things don't like to hit us during the day."

"Are you kidding me?" Miller whispered harshly. "Why should it matter_ when_ they kill us?"

"Because they love secrecy," DeFilipo answered, keeping an ear towards the door. "Don't you think they'd be dead if the news got footage of a real live werewolf, or a vampire? They can't let us know because they know how dangerous we are." The sound of footsteps cut DeFilipo off, and the girl walked back out, followed closely by a middle-aged Indian man in clerical garb. "Father," DeFilipo said, holding out his hand.

"Timothy, so good to see you again," Raju said, taking DeFilipo's hand. "What brings you here to discuss your volunteer work?"

"It's not mine, exactly, Father," DeFilipo said, pushing Miller forward. "It's his."

Raju nodded sagely. "Ah. He has decided to enter into His service?"

"In a way, Father," DeFilipo said. "Is the church empty?" Raju nodded again, and led the pair inside. Opening the large, ornate wooden doors, Miller was led into the main church and quickly looked around. The stained glass was filled with biblical scenes of triumph. David standing triumphant over Goliath, Daniel safe in the lion's den, the crumbling walls of Jericho. The light streaming in from the windows colored the pews and carpet, the golden tabernacle sitting behind the altar in splendor, the eternally lit red candle burning next to it, and a gigantic crucifix hanging from the wall above it all.

"Now, what is your name, my son?" Raju asked. His accent was only enhanced by the acoustics of the church.

"John Miller!" Miller answered, a little too quickly, before shaking his head. "Okay, wait, just wait!" he said, falling into the nearest pew. "I'm sorry, I just need to decompress a little more, okay?"

"Take as much time as you need, John," Raju said, putting a hand on Miller's shoulder before stepping away with DeFilipo. "What happened, Timothy?"

"Wound up on the receiving end of a grounder," DeFilipo said. "He's accepted, he's just adjusting right now, y'know?"

"Of course," Raju said. "It is always hard for a young man to learn about such things, especially in today's society." Shaking his head, Raju kept his smile up. "Now, I have new information for your captain."

"What's up?" DeFilipo asked.

"It seems that some of my flock has gone missing. Men, primarily, all in stable relationships. There are three that I know of, and none with any evidence that they meant to leave. Their bank accounts were still full and their girlfriends reported no missing suitcases."

"You're thinking its suggers?" DeFilipo asked, as the two walked under a window of Samson toppling the arena.

"No, there was no evidence of wounds on them before they disappeared," Raju said. "And besides that, their loved ones made no reports of any nocturnal happenings, just that they disappeared and haven't been seen since."

"Any information to tie everything together?" DeFilipo asked, grabbing a small pad and pen from his pocket.

"The men all usually met up at a local bar, _Hellemans_," Raju said, as the two passed the center of the church. "But my own who went to investigate never noticed anything out of the ordinary. There is a body in the M.E.'s office; I will make it so your men can view it in the early afternoon, simply ask for Dr. Gordon."

"Are you having trouble going on your own, Father?" DeFilipo asked, the two stopping in front of a statue of St. Thomas Aquinas.

"Frankly, the renovations take up much of my time," Raju said, embarrassed at the admittance. "I try to keep things coordinated, but myself? I can barely find the time to get myself a decent meal without a dozen issues cropping up." Sighing, Raju looked over at Miller. "Is your captain sure this one is ready?"

"He's got the fire in him, Father," DeFilipo answered firmly. "I saw it today. He wouldn't be here right now if we didn't think he wasn't ready."

Miller just sat in the pew, numbly staring at the crucifix on the wall. He'd never been the best of Catholics, but he'd kept up with mass as best he could. But with his world suddenly thrown upside down and sideways, finding out the one place he thought didn't change, the Catholic Church, was just as filled with secrets and dangers as the world outside now was. Staring up at the eyes of Jesus he thought, "_If this was because I lost my virginity way to early, I'm sorry._"

"John?" Turning, Miller saw Raju standing in front of the confessionals. Slowly, he stumbled through the church to the back, looking up at the wooden stalls. "Before you step into the world of our Vigil, you must first confess your sins before God." Frightened a little, Miller's eyes darted to DeFilipo, who nodded. Shakily nodding back, Miller walked into the opposite confessional, and waited, wringing his hands as he did.

Pacing, DeFilipo walked away the second he saw the small light above the confessionals flip on. Figuring he had nothing better to do, he found a pew and knelt down, crossing himself before diving into prayer.

Miller nearly shrieked when the sliding door opened in front of his face. "In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen," Raju said, leading into confession.

"B-b-bless me Father, for I have sinned, it has been, oh man, years, since my last confession!" Miller sputtered out, trying to quickly form the words in his head.

"Tell me your sins," Raju said. His voice was the perfect example of calm, serene wisdom.

"Um, well, a lot of impure thoughts," Miller said. "And, uh, disrespecting my parents. Maybe a little too much using His name in vain." Shaking his head, he slammed his head into the carpeted wall. "Father, what the hell does confessing my sins have to do with any of this?!"

"It is not just the concept of your sins," Raju said. "It is a way to gauge oneself. Your weaknesses endanger not only yourself in this struggle, but those who you go beside. Your weaknesses are just as much yours as your brothers."

"But how do I know I'm not nuts?" Miller argued. "What if it's all just one giant prank, like on TV?"

"What does your mind say about this?" Raju said, not a hint of anger or annoyance in his voice.

"It's saying…it's saying none of this should be possible, even with all the stuff Cap and the others have told me." Miller felt his body starting to shake, fear overtaking his mind.

"And what does your heart say?" Raju asked.

"My heart Father?" Miller sad, feeling like Raju was leading him on. "What does lame Disney crap have to do with any of this?"

"It is not Disney 'crap', as you so eloquently put it," Raju said, a slight hint of annoyance sliding into his tone. "There is more to the Vigil than just what your mind can conceive. A man's spiritual strength and sense is just as important as his worldly senses. The question is not what the evidence points to. The question is what you believe."

"I don't know what to believe right now, Father," Miller said, banging his head against the wall. "I want to believe in them, I really do."

"Then what stops you?" Raju asked. "You know they will accept what you have seen. Even when the apostle Thomas witnessed the wounds of our Lord for his own eyes, he believed when he felt them. Why should you feel like a madman when the others believe?"

"I dunno, science, I guess," Miller said, though his voice lacked any real conviction. "None of this stuff should exist, it's impossible!"

"And that is where science can fail." Taking a deep breath, Raju spoke on. "My son, there is so much more to the world than what science can adequately explain, is there not? Has science proven the soul? Has it determined when life truly begins? Now surely, there are things that science has proven for sure. But can it explain the sheer belief in the works of the Lord?"

"I guess," Miller said, conceding to Raju. With a deep breath, he decided to confess his biggest sin. "When I was in high school, I had a girlfriend." Taking another large gulp of air, he pressed on. "Me and her, we were pretty close."

"You loved her?" Raju asked, not a trace of accusation in his voice.

"I thought I did," Miller said, his voice quiet. "We were, well, we were active."

"And something happened," Raju said. Even without being face to face, Miller felt the priest's eyes boring into him.

Taking a deep breath, Miller kept his story moving. "One day, I found out she was pregnant," he said. "And I was afraid, Father. So afraid." He stopped, keeping the panic and sorrow from seeping into his voice, but as he spoke, his words still trembled. "I took her to the clinic, and…I made her undertake a procedure."

"Did she live?" Raju asked, his voice still calm, but gone was the sage-like quality of it all. Now it was closer to an interrogation.

"Yes, Father, she lived, it went off without a hitch." Miller said, tears starting to form at the edges of his eyes. "I've never told anyone about it until now."

"I understand," Raju said. Normally, Miller would question how a priest could understand what if felt like to be part of an abortion, but with the rapid changes in the world he was seeing, it was making more sense than he felt comfortable with. "For you penance, you must battle with your brothers to the best of your abilities, under the service of the Lord."

Miller nodded feverously, crossing himself before running outside, rubbing at his eyes in an effort to hold back the tears. Looking around, he saw DeFilipo hadn't heard him come out, and quickly composed himself. Coughing, DeFilipo snapped out of his prayers and crossed himself, getting up and walking to the back. "So, all cleaned out?"

"I guess," Miller said, hearing the second door open. "So can I go back home now?"

"Not yet," DeFilipo said. "We still need to talk a few things over." Walking up to Raju, DeFilipo shook the priest's hand. "We'll look into that bar tonight, Father."

"Bless you, my sons," Raju said, smiling. As the two walked out the door, Raju realized he'd left the light on. Walking inside, he turned off the light, and reached under his chair for the most valuable piece of the confession. Clicking the little stop button on the recorder, he rewound, and listened to Miller describe his girlfriend's "miscarriage".


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"So what now?" Miller asked, as DeFilipo navigated towards Center City. "Does this mean we work for the Church or something?"

"Hardly," DeFilipo said with a chuckle. "It's just good relations. We've worked with Raju's cell before." Looking over, he saw the confused look on the Probie's face. "Oh, a cell's what we call a group of hunters like us. Cell's like a platoon, basically."

"Oh," Miller said quietly. "So…Raju isn't really part of the Church?"

"No, he's part of the Church," DeFilipo said. "Look, the whole things complicated, let's get some lunch before we keep going."

After a quick drive in the morning traffic, Miller saw they were going into South Philly, stopping at a shop in Packer Park. The sign read "Carcione's Deli: Best of South Philly, Papers be Dammed!" "What's this, lunch?" Miller asked, as DeFilipo got out.

"Well, yes, and it's a learning experience for you." Locking the car as Miller got out, he walked to the door. "This guy's the closest thing we've got to a real leader in the city for our organization." Holding the door open, he beckoned Miller in. "Welcome to the Union."

Walking inside, Miller was, frankly, less than impressed. The few tables on the side weren't occupied, a pair of old men claiming the counter as their own, talking of days long past. A large Italian man stood behind the counter, frying steaks. Turning as the bell above the door chimed, he smiled wide. "DeFilipo! My boy, how're you doing?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Carcione," DeFilipo said, walking over to shake the man's hand. "Sorry we haven't been around lately, things have been busy around us."

"Hey, c'mon, you boys don't have to apologize to me!" Carcione said, patting DeFilipo on the shoulder, and then turning to look at Miller. "So who's this?"

"Our probie, John Miller," DeFilipo said. "I took him down here to get a lesson."

"So is he…." Carcione said, nodding to DeFilipo. "You know."

"He knows," DeFilipo answered. "Just found out last night."

Carcione nodded, and looked to the two other men, who got up with a series of grunts and went to the door, locking it and turning the sign to "Closed". Motioning, Carcione led DeFilipo and Miller to the back, letting them behind the counter and into the storeroom.

"Holy cow." Miller said. The room was almost a command center, maps on the walls covered in a rainbow of thumbtacks, cases of bullets stacked next to hoagie rolls and cans of soda. A locked cabinet in the back was surrounded by folders and papers, a small computer in the corner surrounded by various contact numbers. Above all, the largest single part of the room was a shield, painted on the back. "What's that?" Miller asked, shakily pointing to it.

"The Union shield," Carcione said, taking a seat at the table in the center, deftly navigating the cramped confines. "That's what we're part of, kid, what you're part of."

"Oh, hey, Raju told me about a run we're gonna make," DeFilipo said, taking his own seat. "Can you call Cap, let him know what we have?" he asked, taking out his notepad and ripping off the information.

"You positive about this?" Carcione said, reaching behind his back for three soda cans, motioning for Miller to take a seat. "Hasn't he led you on bogus hunts before?"

"Only once or twice, and even then no one died because of it." Taking the can, he raised it to Carcione before taking a sip. "But first things first, we've gotta get Miller up to speed. You still have the files?"

"Damn straight," Carcione said, getting up. Miller took his seat at the end of the table, nervously looking around. "I was starting to forget them, though, seeing as no one apparently comes around anymore."

"Tell you what, when we leave, we'll pay for the services rendered," DeFilipo said with a laugh.

"What do I look like, some cheap whore?" Carcione shot back, taking out a ring of keys to unlock the massive file cabinet. Shuffling through the folders, he let out another small chuckle and turned to Miller. "Kid, you're gonna get blown away after you read this."

"Thanks, Mr. Carcione," DeFilipo said. Getting up with his drink, he motioned Miller to the door, taking the file from Carcione. Stopping, he turned to the Grocer. "Sir…have you heard from Geno yet?"

Carcione shook his head. "Not the thirteenth yet, kid," he said, his voice somber. "But it's almost the thirteenth, right?" DeFilipo nodded. "Then I guess it'll be soon."

"I see you later Mr. Carcione," DeFilipo said, walking to the front. Nodding to the other two men, he walked out to see Miller waiting by the car. "Nope, sorry Probie, we're on SEPTA from here," he said, putting the file with the others inside the glove compartment, locking the car again.

"What?" Miller said. "To where?"

"There," DeFilipo said, pointing towards Center City. "It's the best place to explain how this all works."

Still trying to piece everything together in a way that wouldn't completely fry his mind, Miller followed DeFilipo as he ran across the street.

Walking through the neighborhood, DeFilipo saw a group of kids riding their bikes on the way to a nearby baseball field. Tapping Miller on the shoulder, he pointed them out. "Hey, Miller, see those kids?"

"What about'em?" Miller said, suddenly looking ready to run away screaming. DeFilipo grabbed hold of Miller's shoulder and held him back.

"Not where I was going, Probie," DeFilipo said. "They aren't exactly inducted into the world, the same way we were before we found out, understand?"

As he walked, Miller chewed over that fact, and slowly the realization dawned on him. "So they wouldn't know not to write off a monster when they see it?"

"Exactly!" DeFilipo said, snapping his fingers. "You've gotta remember that. Whenever you hear a kid talking about and imaginary friend or a monster in the closet, make sure you look out for it. It might just save someone's life, even yours."

"Oh," Miller said, as DeFilipo led the way to Broad Street. "But, it's not every kid, right?"

"Course not," DeFilipo said, crossing the street again to get to the northbound bus. "Something that we've had to learn is that there's a real difference between a kid saying they've seen a ghost and an actual haunted house."

"How?" Miller asked, as DeFilipo dug around in his pockets for a transit pass. "I mean, is there like some questionnaire we have people fill out or something?"

"Not exactly," DeFilipo said. "It just takes time and effort, Probie, like anything else we do. Course, sometimes it's not, strictly speaking, legal." Before Miller could ask any questions, the bus arrived, and DeFilipo jumped on, swiping his pass as Miller fumbled with his change. Quickly, the lovely bouquet of public transportation hit his nose, that mix of body odor, cheap aftershaves and even a few trace odors that DeFilipo didn't want to think about. Taking a seat in the back, he scanned the passengers, looking for any obvious clues that, yes, there was something out of the ordinary on the bus. Quickly, he found one, a man in a clean business suit, but with something different about him. His clothes, while at first glance clean, were also worn horribly, small threads coming apart at the seams. His eyes were hollow, and his skin pale. Normally, a person could chalk it up to a sickness or bad night's sleep, but DeFilipo checked the neckline, and…

"Bingo," he said, as Miller finally sat down next to him. "Okay Probie, first lesson, identifying the targets. See that guy in the business suit?" Miller nodded. "He's a vampire slave."

"What!" Miller nearly shouted, trying to keep his emotions under control. "How can you tell?"

"Check his neck," DeFilipo said. "See that bruise just poking out of his shirt collar?"

"But how do you know that's from a…a monster?" Miller asked, still easing his way into the water, as it were.

"Look at his clothes. For a businessman, his clothes don't look so good, do they? And why's he taking the bus when he could just get someone to drive him?"

"But maybe he's just cheap?" Miller asked. DeFilipo nodded his consent.

"I'll give you that, it's a possibility," he said. "But so cheap he can't even keep his suit together?"

Miller gulped nervously. "So, he's really a vampire's slave."

"Yep," DeFilipo said. "But he might just be a victim. You've gotta understand, Probie, vampires love the easy targets. In this case, poor guy probably was out late one night and ran into the wrong streetwalker."

The man looked over, and DeFilipo nodded, Miller quickly looking away out the window. The man nodded back, and went right back to ignoring them. Feeling the seat shaking, DeFilipo turned to see Miller hurriedly slapping his palm against the seat, doing everything to avoid looking inside the bus. "Probie, you can't try to look away now, you're in. And the only way you're getting out, is the way everybody gets out in the end."

"Oh, that's comforting," Miller said, his words biting into DeFilipo. "So now I have to look over my shoulder ever freaking day?"

"No, but you can take steps to keep from becoming a target. Look, I'll explain more when we get to the pub we all usually go to when we get a new guy."

After the ride to City Hall, DeFilipo led Miller down to Chestnut Street, between 8th and 7th. Out on the street a pub, "_The Chestnut Street Candle_", already with people moving in and out of it. Cautiously, Miller followed DeFilipo inside, but noticed something strange about the clientele. One woman turned to face him, and Miller saw her left eye was glassed over, like it was dead. Another man adjusted his glove on his right hand, and Miller swore it was stitched on like it was a doll being fixed. Walking inside, he was even more confused. A group of black men sat together at a distant table, talking in a language Miller had never heard before, colored smoke wafting around their table. Three women sat at a high table, a series of binders between them bearing a triangular logo with a drop of blood in the center. Then Miller noticed the bar itself. A line of TVs were tuned not to any sports channels, but instead to 24-news networks. The drinks lined up at the back were an expensive selection, but were also joined by cheaper whiskies and liquors. "What is this?" he whispered, as DeFilipo navigated their way to the bar.

"A bar for other hunters," DeFilipo said. "Most of them are just getting off from last night's activities. To them, this is like staying at the bar to closing."

"So are these guys, what'd you call it, Union too?" DeFilipo broke out laughing, slamming his fist on the bar and trying to stifle his laughter in his arm. "I guess that's a no?"

"Oh, you have no idea, Probie," DeFilipo said, signaling the barman. "Look, here's your history lesson, okay? Now, you have to promise that whatever you hear in here you don't share with anyone who's not in the know, got it?" DeFilipo said, his voice as hard as granite.

"Yeah, sure." Miller said, leaning back. DeFilipo nodded.

"Alright, so here's what you know. Monsters are real. And every damn day they want to use us as toys. Vampires suck us dry, werewolves use us as fuck-toys, and witches see us as tools to get what they want," he said. "Not to mention the demons, ghosts, spirits and other crap that's out there."

"There's more?!" Miller said incredulously. "How can there be more!"

"It's a damn big world out there, Probie, and when night falls, all it takes is one step out of the light to become a victim." Finally, the barman arrived, a gaunt looking man, thin jet black hair and eyes darker than that. "Two Yuenglings." Nodding, the barman went to the tap and started pouring, as DeFilipo turned to Miller. "Everyone in here has probably been hurt or attacked in some way or another." Looking around, he saw the perfect examples. "See those girls at the table, reading over those binders?" Miller followed DeFilipo's hand, seeing he was pointing to the same girls. "Odds are they found a little trouble up at Bryn Mawr, didn't realize that the guys they invited to their party was more interested in drinking them than the booze."

"Colleges?" Miller whispered, as the bartender slid out their drinks in front of them. "There are colleges in on this too?!"

"No, not all colleges," DeFilipo said, taking his drink. "Well, there's one is Massachusetts I've heard about, but nothing concrete. Those girls are part of a sorority, but they're some of the best girls to call if you're being chased by a sugger."

Miller nodded, then looked over at the group of black men who kept talking in what might have been a middle eastern language. "And who're they?"

"People we don't like much," DeFilipo answered. "We call'em the Mixers. They're drug pushers and gang bangers, bastards who decided to sell their souls to fight the monsters."

"Oh," Miller said, slowly sipping his brew. "I guess no one here really gets along, huh?" he asked, thinking back to the cops from earlier.

"That's a way of looking at it," DeFilipo said. "We're in the Union, and it's our belief that the workers should look out for themselves. Some of these other guys? They don't even know that their own leg is kicking their own ass half the time."

"Then how do you guys even manage to kill the monsters?" Miller asked, fidgeting with his hands, trying to find something to occupy his mind. "You're talking about all this like it's nothing!"

"You get used to it," DeFilipo said. "After a while, you start to realize that, as bad as it seems on our side, without us, the world would be a much, _much_ darker place." Finished his beer, he signaled the bartender again. "A Beginner." Nodding, the barman went over to the drinks and pulled out a pint glass. Bringing it over, he placed it in front of Miller and went back to the drinks, grabbing bottle of vodka, whiskey, bourbon, brandy, tequila, rum, gin and finally, scotch. Pouring in a small amount from each bottle, Miller stared as the glass finally leveled off halfway. Gulping, Miller went to pick up the glass, only for DeFilipo to grab the glass. "Before you drink this, Probie, you have to answer one question. What is this glass?"

Miller was dumbfounded by the question, but then noticed the entire bar was looking at him. The black men in the back, the sorority girls, even the two ones with bodily modifications had come inside to see what was happening. Trying to find a way to hide from the eyes on him, he looked at the glass and said, quietly. "Fucking disgusting."

The entire bar broke out laughing, and with a soft smile, DeFilipo offered the glass to Miller. "Go ahead, Probie, drink up." Nodding, DeFilipo took the glass and upended it, draining it before he dropped it on the floor, the glass shattering as he coughed up his lungs, the various drinks battling for dominance before the fire from them erupted in his system.

"That a boy, Probie," DeFilipo said, helping Miller to his feet. "C'mon, let's get your legs moving. Now that you're liquored up a little, you might be able to get past a few things."

"I hope so," Miller said hoarsely, as the various patrons of the bar went back to their business. Nodding to the barman, DeFilipo left a few bills on the counter to pay the tab and tip, helping Miller to his feet and out the door.

"Alright, Probie, now it's time to walk," DeFilipo said. "First stop, Independence Hall."

"What?" Miller slurred, trying to keep his words straight. "Why?"

"History lesson," DeFilipo said. Dragging Miller to Old City, Miller saw them closing on the place where it all started. Small families flitted around the monuments and colonial buildings, park rangers giving directions to confused foreign tourists. The spring sun filtered through the trees, children and mothers taking short breaks in the cool comfort of the shade of the trees. "Alright Miller, here's where it all really began for us."

"Oh please don't tell me the founding fathers were in on this stuff," Miller said, rubbing futilely at his head. "My brain can't take anymore, man, seriously."

"No, of course not," DeFilipo said, before shaking his head. "Okay, maybe one or two, but not any important ones. Look, basic fact is this has been going on for longer than any of us have been alive." Carefully, he helped Miller onto the nearest bench and motioned at Independence Hall. "That Hall is where a group of men decided that wanted to live without fear. Without being under the yoke of tyranny and rulers who knew nothing about their struggles. That's the same thing we do. The monsters think they're better than us. Let'em. Anytime we've gone up against them, we've always had'em outnumbered, and even if we didn't, help's always a phone call or radio away."

Miller couldn't nod, couldn't disagree, could barely think with the booze coursing through his system. He stared at the hall like an idiot, a question forming on his lips. "So…who're we with again?"

Sighing, DeFilipo sat down next to the probie. "We're part of what's called the Union. It's just regular folks who decided that the monsters had no right to come into our neighborhoods and homes just to treat us like cattle, or worse. Once we get back to the Grocer's, we'll set you up on the Forum. From there, you'll be set for whatever comes."

"The Union?" Miller said, moving his head a little. "So, what, we're like the IAFF with monster hunting?"

DeFilipo chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, not quite. Everyone at the station is Home First. That means, unless it's actually killing people or causing trouble, we don't worry about it. The second it steps out of line, though," DeFilipo snapped his fingers.

"So we're like a neighborhood watch?" Miller asked. "What about criminals and stuff like that?"

DeFilipo moved his hands like he was holding a pair of weights. "Honestly? That's cop stuff, we don't like getting too involved. We're already technically vigilantes, going around taking care of regular criminals who aren't even aware of the monsters is just too much for us to even think about. If we do run into that kind of problem, we just call the cops to let them know."

"So we're friends with those ones who stopped us?" Miller asked.

"Eh, more like frienemies," DeFilipo said, screwing up his face in concentration. "We've got a bit of a rivalry going, frankly. Seems we stole a 'kill' from them a few months ago, and they weren't very happy."

"Oh," Miller said, like it was a normal, everyday thing. The realization hit him a split second later. "Wait, what?!"

"Probie, that's the least disturbing thing you'll probably hear." Out of the corner of his eye, DeFilipo saw Miller turning the words over in his head, his eyes blank and glassed over, before he gave up and slumped into the bench. DeFilipo waited as Miller's liver did it's best to sort through the bombardment of alcohol it had just gone through.

Slowly, he scanned the park, watching the people in it. He could just barely recall a time when he didn't know what lurked behind every façade. A time when a man taking pictures on a camera wasn't a monster trying to figure out why its own existence was wrong. A place where trees weren't waiting to snag the unwary off the ground and eat them alive. Now, the idea that such things didn't exist seemed more unbelievable than saying they did. Looking over, he felt some sadness for Miller. The Probie hadn't asked for this, a life of possible insanity, or death, or even worse. Now he was stuck in this new world, and it was DeFilipo's job to get him up to speed and ready to go. "_Whatever that means,_" he thought.

"So are we the good guys?" Looking over, he saw Miller still staring at the Hall. Taking a deep breath, DeFilipo shrugged.

"That depends on where you stand," he said. "From your position, what do you think the monsters are?"

It took Miller a second, before he finally said, "What you said, monsters."

"Then that's all you need to know," DeFilipo said. "Alright, let's get back to the shop. I'll call Cap, they'll meet us at the station."

"Got it," Miller said, giving a shaky thumbs up, DeFilipo helping the Probie to walk back to the Broad St. line.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

After calling Tillman to confirm the information given by Fr. Raju and relayed by the Grocer, DeFilipo thanked Carcione again and got into the car with Miller, getting the current password for the Forum. After another drive back to the station, DeFilipo got out seeing Ward and Lt. Donahue waiting for him. "So you're who Cap called?"

"Yep," Ward said, as DeFilipo and Miller left the car. "That thing's too showy, we're taking my car."

"Agreed," DeFilipo said. "C'mon, Probie, we've got work to do."

Miller nodded, following the others to Ward's sedan, a used little thing in a dull shade of gray. Ward and Donahue were both in civilian clothes as well, Ward in a t-shirt and jeans, Donahue in khakis and polo. With the four of them, they looked like anyone out during the day, the best disguise a hunter could have apparently. Squeezing into the small car, the four set off to the Philadelphia Medical Examiners Office. Another drive across the city, over the Schuylkill, and the four were at the Philadelphia Medical Examiner's office in University City, Philly's primary center of higher learning. Parking on the street, Donahue led the others up to the office. Walking up to the front desk, he went to speak with the guard, as the others waited at the side. "Excuse me; I'm here to speak with Dr. Gordon?" Donahue said.

"Who's asking, please?" the guard asked, a stern looking woman with her hair in a tight bun.

"Tell him that it's Fr. Raju's recommendation," Donahue said. Nodding, the guard grabbed the phone on her desk and dialed, as Donahue went to talk with the others. "Did Raju give us any idea what to expect?"

"Only that it wasn't suggers," DeFilipo said, thinking over the conversation. "Maybe it's a shaggy?"

"Nah, then there wouldn't be a body, not if they're taking the men away for…whatever," Ward said. "And why leave the bank accounts? Wouldn't they try to grab the money for themselves?"

"Nah, monsters are still a little savvy," Donahue mused. "They could realize that taking that much money from so many different accounts could draw someone's attention."

"Why would a monster need money?" Miller asked, trying to keep up.

"They still live in our world, Probie, they have to at least try to blend in if they're humanoid." Hearing footsteps, Donahue and the others turned to see a middle aged black man walking towards them, dressed in lab coat and carrying a clipboard with him. "Dr. Gordon?"

"That's me," the doctor said, extending his hand. "Sheila, these gentlemen are coming back with me to view the body we just received, I'm responsible for them, understood?"

"Yes, sir," the guard said, as the men followed Dr. Gordon into the back. The smells of sterilization and the slight stench of decay hit Miller's nose, the only sounds the men's footsteps on the tile, accompanied by the steady hum of fluorescent lights above.

"The body was discovered by uniforms two days ago, and no one's decided to claim it yet," Gordon said, leading the men to the back of the facility. "It's…well, it's frankly nothing I've ever seen before. I knew Fr. Raju from some other strange cases, so I knew to call him in this case."

"We'll do what we can," Donahue said. "Did you hear anything about other bodies?"

"Not yet," Gordon said, handing the clipboard to Donahue. "And if there have been any, no one's talking." Opening the doors to the examination room, he held it open as the men filed in. A body was already on the examination table, covered by a sheet, lights focused on it. "Now I can only give you twenty minutes with the body. Do any of you have medical training?"

"Paramedics," Ward said, pointing to DeFilipo and himself. Gordon nodded, and started to close the door.

"Twenty minutes, then you're out," he said, shutting and locking the door. Nodding to each other, DeFilipo and Ward took the sheet off, and Miller gasped, stumbling away.

"Okay, let's see what we have here," Ward said, Donahue throwing the men a box of gloves from a nearby table. Snapping the latex on, they moved their hands up and down the body. "Subject appears to have died from shock due to a combination of organ failure and blood loss." Miller felt his hand fly straight to his mouth, looking at the body. The man's face was frozen in pain, his eyes glassed over. But around the groin was where the real damage was. Where the genitals used to be, a giant, jagged hole was in its place. The bone inside had been broken in multiple places, jagged cracks running throughout. The skin around the stomach had fallen in, meaning there were no organs inside. What did remain of the genitals were small bits of skin hanging on the edges of the opening.

"What a way to leave," Donahue mused, shaking his head. "Must've been some chick to do that to him."

"I'm..." Miller started to say, before vomiting on the floor.

"Not so fast, sir, I don't think it was necessarily a woman who did this," DeFilipo said, feeling the area around the wound. "The skin's forced outwards, not inwards. Plus, there are still flaps of skin from the phallus and scrotum attached. If this was a woman that did this, I don't think we'd be seeing any of that."

"Let it out, Probie," Donahue said, patting Miller on the back.

"Large intestine, small intestine, stomach, kidneys, liver, they're all gone," Ward said, putting his hand inside the body. Watching Ward feeling around inside the corpse, Miller felt even sicker seeing his hand moving under the skin. "But the diaphragm seems to still be together, mostly, though…yep, that's it, there's some damage."

"Check the pelvis again," DeFilipo said, looking over the man's face. "Anything on the report, sir?"

"Give me a second," Donahue said, looking through the pages. "Ah, Toxicology report. Says here our poor muppet had some booze in his system when he decided to become John Hurt Jr."

"That would explain how he probably didn't notice anything wrong until too late," Ward said. "If he were sober, he probably would've made as much noise as possible."

Miller, for his part, was too busy staring at Ward and the others, realizing that this wasn't shocking at all to them. The fact that the man had died possibly the most unnatural death in existence and they weren't batting an eye would have made Miller throw up again if he wasn't pretty much empty now.

"Wait, wait, wait, gentlemen, there's more," Donahue said, turning another page. "It also says that there were enough endorphins in his system to actually trip the screening."

"Endorphins?" DeFilipo said. "Hell, that shouldn't be happening." Grabbing the clipboard, DeFilipo whistled at the numbers. "I stand corrected," he said, handing the board back.

"Hey, I think I've got something!" Ward shouted. Rushing over, Donahue and DeFilipo leaned close, as Ward seemed to struggle with removing something inside the body, as Miller leaned on one of the tables to steady himself. "Feels pretty solid…got it!" he said, pulling the evidence out of the cavity, holding it up to the light. "Hello." It looked like a large flake of skin, colored brown, the light from the ceiling lamps barely able to penetrate. "How much time we have left, LT?"

"Ten minutes," Donahue said, looking at his watch. "Plenty of time, let's get this place cleaned up." Nodding, Ward started to put the sheet back in place over the body, as DeFilipo grabbed a hanging hose and sprayed the puke on the floor into the drain. "Probie, toss me an evidence bag." Nodding, Miller looked on the table he was using and grabbed a bag of plastic bags. Tossing them to Donahue, he shook his head a few times, trying to clear his mind. Breaking off a small piece, Donahue put it into the bag and handed the evidence to Ward to put back into the cavity. After quickly replacing it and putting the sheet into place, Ward ran to the nearest sink and started washing the fluids off his hands and arm, throwing the gloves into the hazardous waste basket. DeFilipo quickly did the same, and Donahue knocked on the door, checking the men over and shoving the evidence into his pocket.

The latch moved, and the door opened, Dr. Gordon standing on the other side. "You done?"

"Pretty much," Donahue said, leading the men out. "We think it's connected to a string of animal deaths, actually, do you know anyone at the veterinary school?"

"Down the road?" Gordon asked. "Yeah, I have a friend of mine, he teaches there. He doesn't have a class right now, he should be available if there aren't too many students in front of him. I'll call him and tell him you're coming, Mr…?"

"Johansson," Donahue said, shaking Gordon's hand. "Where can we find this guy?"

"Dr. Wellin, he should be on the building directory." With a final nod, Donahue and the men went for the door, as Gordon went back to the body.

"Johansson?" Ward asked. "You're pulling that name out again?"

"I figure its safe enough now," Donahue answered. "Veterinary college is down that way, right?"

"The question now is what you're thinking," DeFilipo said, Miller trailing, trying to keep up. "You think it was some kind of cryptid?"

"Possible," Donahue said, as the men crossed the street. "There was plenty of blood, no massive claw or bite marks, and this," he said, patting the evidence in his pocket. "Probably means it wasn't a witch, unless it caused something inside the poor bastard to become solid and explode."

"Stop, stop, just stop a second!" Miller shouted, stopping on the pavement and grabbing at his head. "What the fuck are you all acting so Goddamn calm about? A man is dead because something literally burst through his dick, and you're talking about fucking witches!"

"Easy, Probie, easy now," DeFilipo said, slowly approaching Miller. "You heard my story, right? Why wouldn't we try to rule them out?"

"Because…because!" Miller shouted, holding his head in his hands before collapsing onto a nearby bench, grabbing at his head, moaning and grunting. Nodding to Donahue and Ward, DeFilipo stuck with Miller, hoping to bring Miller down from his fear.

"William Ashworth," the city official on the other end of the phone said.

"Hey, Will, its Cole," Anglin said, leaning back on his couch. "What's up?"

"Hey man, glad to hear from you!" William said. "Man, it's been ages!"

"Well, we didn't want to overuse your considerable skills, after all. Never know when they're going to fail on us," Anglin said lightheartedly.

"Hey, don't you go bringing my skills down!" Ashworth shot back. "Without me you would've never known why some of those random bird attacks three months ago weren't so random, would you?"

Anglin laughed at the game that was still going between the two. Ever since they'd been in high school, he and Ashworth went at each other endlessly, a constant battle of getting a leg up against the other. Even after Ashworth had gone to college while Anglin was drawn to the fire academy, they'd kept in constant contact. By some merciful twist of fate, Ashworth had gotten to the perfect position to help the cell, and despite never directly telling Ashworth why he kept asking the questions he did, Anglin always made sure to send some kind of thanks his friend's direction. "That was then this is now, man," Anglin said. "I need information, a little girl named Tamara, Holme elementary."

"A little kid?" Ashworth said, sounding worried. "Cole, what do you need this kid's information for?"

"To protect her," Anglin said, nearly growling. "She said something that put me and Cap off when we visited her school, we need to make sure her and her family aren't in danger."

"Cole, man, I don't know about this one," Ashworth said. "You know I've always helped you before, but a little kid is a little more than suspicious."

"Will, this kid could be in danger, and a lot of other people with her," Anglin said. "And we can't exactly go to the police with what sounds like monsters in the closet now, can we?"

"So how do you know it isn't just a prowler, or her parents playing a prank?" Ashworth said. "For all you know, it's just a coat in her room hung at the right angle."

"All we need is the address, Will," Anglin said, trying to carry his concern over the phone. "Please, just give us the poor girl's address and we can see whether or not we're wrong."

The line went silent, then Ashworth sighed. "I'll see if I can't find any trace of a girl named Tamara," Ashworth said, with a hint of sarcasm. "But Cole, if this comes anywhere close to biting me in the ass, I'm covering myself, you got that?"

"I know," Anglin said. "Listen, I've got to go, call me when you get anything." Hanging up, Anglin let out a yawn, and got up to walk out to his "balcony". Staring out over the small patch of grass under his apartment, he thought to himself about things. Somehow, he felt guilty about saying that the men needed another man on their side, and that Miller just happens to get sucked into their world. Shaking his head, Anglin caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and nearly ran to grab a gun, seeing a series of people wearing blackened clothes, the girls wearing chokers, the boys with spiked hair, before he caught a hold of himself.

"_It's still day, you dumbass,_" he said, watching the kids walk down the street. Sometimes, it was a close call when the men were on a hunt, and Anglin had very nearly been a party to murder had it not been for the quick thinking of another hunter nearby. A lot of the time, none of the men really knew what the Goths and emos and other "darker" teen cliques were thinking, acting the way they did. And the Forums had no shortage of stories and accusations that a few hunters had realized too late they had killed the wrong target.

Turning back to his apartment, he went into the kitchenette and grabbed some milk, pouring himself a glass and turning on the TV.

"_A group of assaults and robberies on women are being reported in Society Hill,_" the news anchor said, Anglin digging around in his fridge for some lunchmeat. "_The attacks have been carried out in alleys, side streets, and other secluded locations, as well as an assault on a woman in her own home._" Anglin shook his head hearing that. It was common sense to stick to well-lit areas in public, not go off on your own. Coming out with some ham, he changed the channel to the comedy network, and laughed along as the comedians went on about the madness of life without monsters.

"Here he is," Donahue said, looking through the directory for Dr. Wellin. "Third floor." Leading the way to the elevator, Donahue and Ward did their best to blend in with the students and staff moving about the building. Crammed into the elevator with two students, Donahue noticed the small trio of circles on one of their binders, a caduceus, an atom, and a beaker inside the three circles. Nodding to the student as the doors opened, Donahue noted that the girl didn't nod back, just kept her eyes on Donahue, nervous of his movements, even as the doors closed.

"What room was he in again?" Ward asked, seeing a hallway of doors before them.

"304, I think," Donahue said, both of them slowly moving through the hall, checking the other doors in case they were wrong, before knocking on the door to 304. "Dr. Wellin? It's Mr. Johansson, Dr. Gordon called about me?"

"One second," Wellin said from behind the door, the noises from behind the door sounding like he was shoving boxes away in a hurry. Then a large shadow appeared in the small frosted window, and the door opened on a man wearing a flannel shirt that was doing it's best to contain the man's rounded shape, with gray, curled hair, with a large bald stop on the top, with a trimmed goatee and mustache. "Yes, Mr. Johansson?"

"Thank you for taking the time to see us, sir," Donahue said, as Wellin motioned them inside. "We were hoping you could help us with identifying a particularly harsh animal killer in Manayunk," Donahue said, Ward scanning the office. The entire space was cramped with shelves full of books and boxes, a small skeleton of what looked like a rat on the desk. The computer was a new model, but already filled with pictures and files, but none of them looked like anything that would clue the men in. Shifting in his seat, Donahue pulled the plastic bag from his pocket and handed it over to Wellin. "Sir, can you tell us what this is from?"

Taking the evidence, Welling turned on a small desk lamp, taking piece out and examining it. "Where did you find this?"

"On one of the bodies," Donahue said, Ward still looking over the office. For a split second, Ward thought he saw the same symbol on a binder, but couldn't be sure without moving it. "Poor dog was dead and sad looking."

"I'd say he'd be," Wellin said, adjusting his glasses. "Because if this was a flea, it was a very, _very_ large flea. It would have to be a large flea to make a flake of carapace this large."

"A flea," Donahue said flatly. "You're saying a flea made that?"

"Well, I'd have to do more testing, of course, but this looks amazingly like the same type of armor plating any small insect or arachnid would have." Breaking off a piece of the sample, Wellin pulled out a small textbook and slid it over to Donahue. "You see?"

Taking the book, Donahue looked over the page to see what a flea looked like under a microscope, and back at the evidence. "But what could make a sample that large?"

"Honestly?" Wellin said, leaning back in his chair. "I have no idea. Unless someone's got a pretty sick mind and is blaming a giant flea."

Nodding, Ward kept scanning the room, but could find no trace that the man was a "Misty", a member of Null Mysteriis, and let the issue drop. "Do you think it's possible it's part of a large creature?" he asked.

"Well, some mammals are born with conditions that cause their skin to become more like scales rather than growing fur, but such conditions are fairly hard to come by," Welling said. "I'd have to run some more tests, but until then, I would have to say someone is making a hoax out of these animal killings you're talking about."

"I see," Donahue said. "Thank you for your help, sir, we'll be in touch." Shaking Wellin's hand, Donahue and Ward quickly walked out the door, hurrying outside the building. "Okay, I think I have a plan forming in my head," Donahue said, as the two came out onto the street.

"Care to share?" Ward asked, as they went back to where they left Miller and DeFilipo.

"When we get everyone together," Donahue said. "And after I get to the nearest store, I've got some stuff to buy." Coming close to where the Probie had broken, he saw DeFilipo standing behind him, Miller just staring at the opposite side of the street from his bench. Slowly, Donahue walked over, kneeling as he came up to Miller. "Hey Miller, you okay?"

"I guess," Miller said flatly. "Today's been kind of a whirlwind, you know?"

"I know," Donahue said. "But we had to make sure you could handle yourself."

"Handle myself?" Miller said, his face changing to disbelief. "This whole day has just been one big test?!"

"More important than any you've ever taken before," Donahue said. "Remember that drink you had earlier at the bar?" Miller turned green a little, but nodded. "You wouldn't be here if you hadn't answered the way you did." Taking a seat next to Miller, he looked across the street, at the same buildings and people Miller was. "This whole day, we were seeing how long it would take before you finally snapped. How long was it, anyway?"

"About…four hours," DeFilipo said. "I'd call that a point in his favor."

"Okay, someone please explain to me why it's important you all dragged me back and forth through the city only to tell me I passed some stupid test!" Miller shouted.

"Because these things we fight, they can do things," Donahue said. "They screw with your head, make you see things that aren't there, can force you to do things that you'd never imagine."

"We've found the key isn't any special ability, a lot of the time it's just being strong enough to fight off their tricks long enough to get away," Ward said. "The best thing to do is just stick with your buddies, that way you can't do anything stupid without them being there to stop you."

"You've done well, Miller," Donahue said. "You managed to actually keep up with DeFilipo even through stuff you've never heard of, and you never stopped asking questions. You'll fit right in with all this, and we'll make sure to watch out for you, like we're supposed to."

It didn't take Miller long to understand what they were saying now. "Alright," he said, nodding as he got up with them and walked back to Ward's car. "I'm gonna puke a lot more, aren't I?"

"Means you've still got some trace of humanity in you," DeFilipo said, as the men got into the car. Pulling out his phone, Donahue dialed up Tillman's number.

"Have you gotten everything?" Tillman asked, not bothering with any small talk.

"We're almost positive it's a cryptid, sir," Donahue said. "Ward found a sample of carapace in the body, a doctor at the veterinary school told us it was possibly part of a flea."

"What about the body?" Tillman asked.

"Everything below the diaphragm was gone," Donahue said, Miller doing his best to ignore what his lieutenant was saying. "And it seems like something came out of the body. I have a plan, I'll explain it in detail once we're back at the station."

"Good job, I'll call the others together," Tillman said, hanging up.

Putting his own phone away, Donahue looked over his shoulder at Miller. "Get ready Probie, you're about to meet Mama Lilith's lil' rejects."

"What's what now?" Miller asked, as Ward pulled into traffic.

"Lilith is the mother of all monsters in Biblical mythology," DeFilipo said, as Ward turned around to cross back over the Schuylkill. "She was created at the same time as Adam, in the same way, but she said that she wouldn't be subservient to Adam. So God kicked her out, she fell in with the Devil, and from that came all the monsters we have today."

"Oh, that's just lovely," Miller grumbled, as Ward guided them back to Center City.

Back in his home and dressed in civvies, Tillman went to log on to the Forum, the main source of Union communication. Despite what the men were probably telling Miller, wasn't the greatest resource out there for a man to use, though it was probably better than most. Logging on, he quickly navigated to the threads for Philly, and scrolled to the "New Bloods" thread.

"I've got a new man," he typed in. "Just ran into a grounder, put him through the wringer today." Posting, he waited a few minutes before hitting the refresh button.

"Took you long enough to fill that gap," Badgeman586 posted. "We were getting sick of picking up your slack."

"When are you taking him out?" Jung116 asked.

"Tonight," Tillman typed. "We got a tip from church, they said that there're some disappearances we should look into." Waiting a few more minutes, he refreshed the page again.

"Good luck," Jung116 said. "You're gonna need it with a noob holding you up."

Finished with the Forum, Tillman got up and went to make his lunch, treading across the carpet to his fridge, mechanically grabbing at the food and bread, making his food like he wrote a report, quickly and to the point. Sitting down at his small table, he ate quickly, not bothering to really taste the meats or cheese. Washing it down with some milk, he got up and went up to his bedroom, unlocking his gun safe and getting out his tools for the night.

He started with the shotgun, checking the breech and pump, loading in the buckshot, six in the magazine, one in the breech. "Combat loaded" he'd learned it was called, and that it'd been a life saver more than once. With a quick pump, the shell was ejected from the weapon, Tillman pumping them all out, the gun not jamming once. Loading them up again, he set the shotgun down and picked up his pistol. The weapon wasn't large or particularly intimidating, but it was the same kind the police used, and that was good enough for him. Quickly oiling the barrel and mechanisms, he put a round in the chamber and slid a magazine in, making sure the safety was flipped before putting it down. Next came the axe, halogen, and crowbar. Each one served its dual purpose well, from breaking and entering to breaking a monster's face. Hefting the axe, Tillman took a few practice swings, his muscles flowing with the movements with well practices and memorized precision. Each weapon had also been blessed by Raju, meaning that were it a particularly demonic or unholy creature, there would be no chance of it surviving. Loading the gear into a duffel bag, he carried it all downstairs, grabbing his phone.

Cavanaugh was watching TV when the phone rang. Looking at the ID, he picked up. "Yeah Cap?"

"Run tonight," Tillman said. "Meet up at the house, we'll move from there."

"Got it," Cavanaugh said, setting the phone down and going upstairs to his own safe. His own gear was a little less cumbersome. A .38 revolver and a crowbar were his choices, easily concealed and easy to break out in an instant. What was more important was the piece of paper locked inside another box within the safe. Opening it, he looked it over quickly, making sure it was up to date. Satisfied that his will would guarantee his kids getting their fair share between them all, he put it back into the lockbox, sliding it back into the safe and locking it all up, putting the shotgun into its case and putting it all into his truck. Getting his cell phone, he called his wife.

"Hey babe," Kathleen said. "What's up?"

"I'll be out tonight babe, Tillman called a meeting." Grabbing the keys from his pocket, he got in the truck and started it up. "Don't wait up for me, I'll probably be back around 11."

"Okay babe," Kathleen said, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "Love you."

"Love you too," Cavanaugh said, hanging up. Staring at the phone for a second, then at the house, he backed out, slamming on the breaks as his neighbor's car nearly caused an accident. "Fuck!" he shouted, getting out. Looking over, he saw his neighbor laughing, as he got out with his girlfriend.

"Hey, Cavanaugh!" he shouted, and Cavanaugh scowled. Jeffery Q Witt, entrepreneur, investor, and all around jackass, the constant stick thin and nasally voiced thorn in Cavanaugh's side. Whenever Cavanaugh tried to mow his lawn, he kept nearly ruining his mower on beer cans from Witt's constant parties. Whenever he wanted a quiet night, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Witt's stereo was on full blast. And more than once, when his daughters tried to get a tan in their own backyards, he knew that Witt had tried to catch a peek of them from his second floor, shoving field glasses up to his glasses and thin face, making building a fence useless. But that wasn't all.

More than once, he'd seen a few of Witt's friends, and quickly recognized them as members of the Abe, the Ashwood Abbey, the sickest sons of bitches to even hold a gun. Ever since seeing them, he was always on guard, waiting for the night when Witt and his friends decided that letting a monster loose in suburbia would be a fun hunt.

"Witt, what the fuck was that!" Cavanaugh shouted. "You nearly wrecked my truck!"

"Ah, don't worry! If I ever do, I promise, I'll buy you a new one," Witt said, laughing.

"Jeffy!" the girl whined, hoping up and down a little. Cavanaugh had noticed this girl over at Witt's house more than any other, and figured she was the main gold digger. "C'mon, let's go!"

"Alright, babe, alright," Witt said, locking the car and running up with her to the door, the clip-clop of her heels matched with the tapping of his honest to God Italian shoes. Cavanaugh shook his head. Witt may have been intelligent enough to build on the money his daddy gave him, but that seemed to be as far as his brain could carry him. Slamming his door as he got back in, Cavanaugh briefly entertained the idea of calling for a friend in the local police to come over and check Witt's BAC as he drove away.

After getting the call from Tillman, Vincenzo reached under his bed for the lockbox that held his pistol. Checking it's parts and oiling it, he loaded a fresh magazine into it and put it and the crowbar into a bag, going downstairs to meet with Gruber, who was already on his way. He didn't have to wait long, as Gruber pulled up to the curb the second Vincenzo walked out. Nodding, he got in the back, as Anglin was already in the passenger's seat. "Yo," he said, as Gruber pulled away. "What's up?"

"Straight from Church," Anglin said, Gruber silent as usual. "Disappearances from a bar, a body just turned up."

"Bad?" Vincenzo asked, sliding his bag under the seat.

"Tillman sent Donahue out to find out, we'll know more once we get to the station." Taking out a pack of cigarettes, he offered one to Vincenzo, who nodded, taking one. "Hey, you know any scientific reason for ghosts?"

"Hallucinations caused by bad plumbing," Vincenzo said, lighting up. "A group of scientists took on the same conditions that are associated with ghost hauntings, they found out that pipes vibrating at the right frequency can cause visual and auditory hallucinations. Couple that with drafty walls and windows, and you've got every ghostly encounter in history." Vincenzo gave a smug smile as he finished.

"Poltergeists?" Gruber asked, stopping at a light. Vincenzo's smile disappeared, and Anglin started laughing as the Italian struggled for an answer.

Carroll and O'Reilly were already waiting at the station, the sun starting to sink below the buildings as the others pulled up. As Miller got out, Miller noticed how utterly mundane they all looked. No symbols on their shirts aside from brand names, no tattoos showing, and no jewelry. Even Cavanaugh wiggled his wedding ring off and hid it in his truck. Tillman pulled up last, walking over to Donahue. "He ready?" he asked.

"Just about," Donahue said. "What's the plan?"

"Everyone loads up, three cars minimum." Turning to the men, he looked them over. "This should be a simple run; go in, douse, and get out. Any questions?"

"What're we up against?" O'Reilly asked.

"We think we're facing a cryptid," Donahue said. "We took some evidence we found to the veterinary school, they told us it was very similar to flea carapace, but that was all. That's why I got these," he said, walking over to Ward's open trunk, grabbing a plastic shopping bag. "Each of you take one," he said, giving the first can to Miller, who stared at the label. "Bug-B-Gone".

"Bug spray?!" Miller shouted. "That's what we're using?"

"You'd be surprised," O'Reilly said, taking a can. "I remember one time, we went up against a demon that couldn't survive the smell of roses, we cleaned out every florist shop we could. Couldn't wash that smell off me for a week."

"We're going to a bar called _Hellemans_," DeFilipo said. "The bug seems to be going after any men it can. We think it's using a mix of pheromones and inebriation to lure the targets away. Whatever you do, do not talk to any of the women in this bar."

"Remember, this is the Probie's first time out," Tillman said, his voice booming across the small parking lot. "I don't want him to buy it his first time; we're all responsible for him now. He goes, we all go with him." The men nodded in unison. They all knew how it worked. If one of the cell died…Tillman just barked, "Load up!"

Tillman looked into the eyes of his cell as they to the cars. Cavanaugh, Ward and Gruber's eyes were set in sheer grim determination, ready to face down whatever they found. Donahue, DeFilipo and Vincenzo looked like they couldn't wait to find out exactly what they were going up against, to add it to their own little mental reference guides of monsters and evil beings. Carroll, Anglin and O'Reilly just looked ready for a fight, a way to let loose on something that probably deserved it. Miller had some kind of a look in his eye, like he didn't quite know where to fall yet in the cell.

The men started piling into their cars, O'Reilly, DeFilipo, and Miller in Ward's sedan, Vincenzo, Carroll and Gruber in Anglin's four door, and Donahue and Tillman riding with Cavanaugh, loading their weapons into the respective cars.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Driving into Mayfair, the men looked around, navigating with their smart phones to find the bar. Pulling up, they were quickly on their guard. _Hellemans_ was looking like a party bar, the kind of place singles met for one night stands and expensive beers. The men parked and got out, huddling around Cavanaugh's truck.

"I'm not fitting in there, that's for sure," Tillman said. "Dude, Face, take Probie with you to scope the place out. We'll wait out here and wait for you."

"Got it Cap," Carroll said, grabbing Miller and dragging him across the street, Anglin following. A bouncer waited at the door, glaring at the men, but motioning them in.

"Thanks," Carroll said, the three getting their hand stamped by a girl inside the door. Quickly, the light of the streetlamps was replaced with the harsh and flashing glare brought on by colored strobes. Miller nearly fell on his ass, Anglin helping him up. "Easy Probie!" Carroll said. "Let's find ourselves a table first, then you can collapse!" Miller could barely hear Carroll over the noise, and thought he'd lost him through the small crowd. Making their way to the far wall, the three slid into a table, Carroll and Anglin scanning the crowd.

"What now?" Miller shouted, hoping he could be heard.

"Observation," Anglin answered, barely raising his voice though Miller could hear him clear as day. "Whatever's doing this loves to trawl the crowds, pick out whatever target it likes. Guys that are on their own mostly."

"But the priest said some of those guys were steady." Miller shouted, hastily looking over the crowd.

"So why bring your buddies to a bar where you're gonna cheat?" Carroll said, as a waitress came up. "None, thanks, we're waiting for our friends," he said, the waitress nodding and walking off. The three sat in silence, scanning the crowd, Miller unable to really figure out what he was looking for.

"What happened to you guys?" he asked, trying to keep his mind occupied. Carrol and Anglin looked at each other, and Carroll turned to Miller, Anglin looking back out at the crowd.

"So I'm with _the_ girl, right?" Carroll said, dragging up memories Miller realized were best left hidden, quickly regretting his mistake. "And she was something good Probie, I mean I'd been seeing her for about three months then, I knew she was the one." Miller's eyes went wide. Even he was amazed at the stories the other men told about Carroll's numerous conquests, as well as the speed at which they were accomplished.

"So, we're out by the Art Museum, right? And we're getting close, kissing on a park bench, and we part ways, understand? I went to my car, she went to hers." For a second, Carroll stopped, like pretending that was the end of the story really made it the truth. Then he kept going. "So I'm at my car, right? Then I think I hear a scream, and I book it, you know? I run and run and I think I'm getting close, and then I see these three guys, and they're all around her, beating on her, kicking her, all kinds of stuff." Like DeFilipo, he had trouble finding the words for a second, before moving on, a look of fierce anger overcoming his usually jovial expression.

"They threw her in the river, like she was nothing but a piece of garbage. They just threw her in, and the worst part was she was still alive. I tried to get to her, tried to get into the river, but," He froze, his knuckles going white. Miller realized that if he had been holding a beer in his hand, he would have crushed the glass to pieces by now. "Those guys, they started tearing out of their clothes, like they were hulking out or something. I wanted to fight, but something inside was telling me to run, to get out. But she was still moving in the water…."

"I think I've got her." Anglin said, snapping Carroll back so fast Miller was worried he would get whiplash. For a second, Carroll thought he would actually see that same woman again, his heart very nearly skipping a beat. Instead, he saw Anglin staring intently at a man and woman on the dance floor, bumping and grinding harder and faster than anyone in the place. The first thing Miller thought was that they just needed to get rid of the clothes and that was gonna be their night. His second was, "_Oh it's gonna be embarrassing to stand up._"

"Ten bucks says that's her," Anglin said, as he and Carroll glared at the couple. The man was just a regular guy, probably coming to take a break from life and stress. The girl, however, was something else. Whatever her clothes did leave to the imagination, a small tug on the strings that held them up would bare all, and the lack of a back on her top meant nothing would be hidden for long. Her long brown hair fell all the way to her waist, and the rest of her body was just as well equipped. Even through the dim lighting of the club, Anglin could make out green eyes and luscious lips, which were constantly attached to the poor bastard she was dancing with.

"So what now, do we just grab her?" Miller said, his voice nearly breaking.

"No, not even close, Probie," Carroll said, putting a hand on Miller's shoulder. "We have to wait for them to leave, no matter what. We move to early, we're the suspicious looking ones."

Outside, the others waited in their cars, Tillman listening to the news station on the radio, as Donahue looked around, Cavanaugh sleeping in the driver's seat. Staring, Donahue started to notice something. "Hey, Cap, I think I've got something interesting here. Check out the lampposts and power lines."

Looking out the window, Tillman noticed that each one seemed to have a flyer attached to it. Some of dogs, some of cats, all with the same message. "Lots of missing pets in the area," he said. "Could be connected," he said.

"Could be," Donahue replied. "They've been in there for almost twenty minutes, should we go inside?"

"Too soon," Tillman said. "We go in now, we could blow everything out of the water for them. We're in the perfect position if anything goes down, and backup'll arrive in minutes. We just stay where we are, and we'll be fine."

"Got it," Donahue said. Then, after a few more minutes of silence, "Don't you think it's weird?"

"What?" Tillman growled, leaning back in his seat.

"That right now, a year later, the Probie just happens to come across a dead burn on a run?" Donahue said, tapping his fingers on the door. "I mean, Cap, that's a little weird, isn't it?"

"You were all complaining about needing another man," Tillman said. "Now you're saying we should just cut Probie out entirely?"

"I'm just saying, it's weird that he just happens to find a dead burn that day, of all days he could have, don't you think?"

"I think we have a good thing here, and we shouldn't look it in the mouth," Tillman said.

"And what if that gift horse is gonna burn us from the inside?" Donahue asked, fear in his voice.

"Then we take our own house down," Tillmans answered, closing his eyes for a minutes respite.

"Good Lord, it's like she's got a freakin' eel in her mouth," Anglin said, as he, Carroll and Miller, as well as a good half of the club, watched the couple on the dance floor go at each other, the man very nearly ripping off the girl's clothes a few times, her leg steadily moving up his. Finally, the bouncer from the door came up and, after a few words and muscle flexes, convinced the couple to leave. Anglin and Carroll quickly got up to follow, Miller following a second later, keeping a hand in pocket.

"We've got something," Donahue said, tapping Tillman on the shoulder. Putting his chair up, Tillman saw a man and woman leaving the club, nearly joined to each other at the mouth. Seconds later, Anglin and Carroll came out, Miller trailing behind. Quickly, Anglin pointed at the man and woman. Waking Cavanaugh, Tillman felt the truck rumble to life and start down the street, Gruber following a second later. Unfortunately, the two lovers didn't get into a car. Instead, they kept walking down the street, still attached at the lips. Smoothing their posture, Anglin and Carroll kept a good five yards between themselves and the suspected target, as the vehicles went up the street and turned away, waiting for the others to call them to the exact location.

The night seemed to surround the three, even with the streetlamps overhead. Miller was starting to shake like a leaf in the wind. Looking back, Carroll slowed his pace, keeping with Miller. "Cool it, Probie, she's not interested in us right now," he said, watching the couple ahead play tonsil hockey with each other. "We're just following her, we aren't in danger yet."

"Not in danger from her?" Miller said, nearly shouting. "But what about all those other things out there, what about them? You said it yourself, there are things out there that could kill us!"

"We've got strength in numbers right now, Probie, and we're also in a neighborhood that's populated. Do you know what to do if you're being robbed or raped?" Miller stared at Carroll, who sighed. "You draw attention to yourself, Probie, make sure everyone sees you, knows you're in trouble. Explaining things to the police is better than winding up dead.

"Okay, got it," Miller whispered. "I think. But Car— "

"No!" Carroll said. "No real names, not when we're on a run. I'm Face, okay? Nothing else, not until we know the monster is dead, and maybe not even then."

"Okay," Miller said, looking ready to fall into a pile of fear and human waste. Nodding, Carroll went back to watching the couple, Anglin keeping his phone in hand ready to dial Tillman. After a few minutes' walk the couple stumbled into what was probably the woman's house, since she had been the one to unlock the door. The two kept kissing all the way in, and the man had already started kicking off his shoes and unbuckling his belt. Waiting for the door to close and lock, Anglin made the call and rattled off the address. In what seemed like two seconds, the two cars pulled up, and the men got out, having grabbed the weapons from Anglin's trunk.

"You'll need to get that lock fixed," Donahue said, handing Carroll and Anglin their weapons, as the other men took out flashlights, tools, and other gear, including what looked like a bottle of lighter fluid and a large case of matches.

"Ah, man, I just had the car in the shop," Anglin said, Carroll chuckling at his friend's misfortune.

"Alright Probie, get ready, cause this is the big leagues," O'Reilly said, clapping Miller on the shoulder with what felt like enough force to push a car ten feet, putting an axe in his left hand, his right already filled with the bug spray. "Just keep your faith, and you'll survive."

"What is it with everyone and telling me about faith today?" Miller said, absently shaking his can of bug spray as he spoke. "Def— "

"Bookworm," DeFilipo said, checking his weapons.

"Bookworm, R- The priest, everyone! What is going on here?" he shouted, walking in a circle.

"Don't worry, Probie, it's all just a little act to keep your spirits up," Vincenzo said, checking his weapon's action. "Just do what I do. Keep telling yourself it's just another run, and you'll get by fine. These guys are all too wrapped up in the mystical crap anyway," he murmured.

"Just because you don't have any faith doesn't mean we shouldn't," Ward said, looking through his first aid kit. "Why can't you be more open to the idea that these things just aren't natural?"

"I'll have that conversation after we kill what's probably something that can and will be explained," Vincenzo said. "After you, Cap."

Walking up, Tillman approached the door slowly, the men keeping an eye on the streets in case someone decided to drive by. The other half of the home seemed to be unoccupied, making the threat of being found pretty slim. Trying the door, Tillman found it locked. Nodding to O'Reilly and Gruber, he stood back as "Big Man" and "Muscles" went to work with the k-tool, Halligan, and sledgehammer, forcing the locks of the door open by sheer force. The wood and metal creaked and snapped in protest, but the force was too much, and the lock broke in seconds. Snapping the chain with the bar and pulling out the bolt with the key tool, O'Reilly want in first holding his revolver out in front of him as the others filed in.

Going in, Miller was struck by just how "ordinary" the house looked. Scanning the interior, he saw new wallpaper had been put up, white couches in the living room in front of a flatscreen TV. Scenic paintings hung on the walls, making the house almost like one found in a home and garden magazine, all straight angles and perfect carpets.

"Big Man, Green, Probie, upstairs," Tillman said, directing O'Reilly, Ward and Miller up the stairs. "Muscles, Bookworm, Dude, kitchen," he said to Gruber, DeFilipo and Anglin. "Skeptic, LT, Face, take the living room," he said, moving Vincenzo, Donahue, and Carroll to make sure the living room really was clear. "Old Man, you're with me," he ordered, Cavanaugh staying with him at the front door, just in case a curious neighbor decided to check in, or worse, they decided to call the police.

O'Reilly snuck up the stairs, silent despite his mass. Ward followed, keeping his spray can down at the floor, first aid kit hanging from his shoulder. Miller followed, keeping his axe held close to his chest, his can of spray held in his pocket. Each step seemed to announce his own imminent death, a monster ready to grab him from any direction and drag him away. Then, he saw Ward freeze, and did the same, O'Reilly standing just before the landing. "You hear that?" he whispered, looking around.

"Yeah," Ward said, pulling back the slide on his own pistol. "Any ideas?"

"Maybe they're done?" O'Reilly said, before a scream ripped through the house. Miller had never heard a scream like that before, a mix of pain and pure terror. With a great leap, O'Reilly reached the top of the stairs, following the source of the screams to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Grabbing at the handle, it was locked. "Probie, follow me in," he shouted, shoving his pistol into his pocket, safety on.

Miller just stared at O'Reilly. "You're actually gonna go in there?" he said, Ward noting his voice sounding like it was almost a whimper. "Are you— "

"I am," O'Reilly growleded, gripping his Halligan as Ward was shoving Miller forward. With a grunt, O'Reilly slammed the bar into the door, hacking away at the wood, splinters and chips flying everywhere. His eyes were focused, his anger so thick in the air Miller thought he could reach out and touch it. After a few hits, Miller thought the hole was wide enough for O'Reilly to reach through and open the door from the inside. O'Reilly just kept hitting the door, and Miller heard footsteps coming up behind him. In fear, he grabbed at the can of spray.

"Coming up," Donahue shouted, appearing on the landing a second later. "What've we got?"

"Something," O'Reilly grunted, opening the door bit by bit. Finally, he loosened the handle enough to smash it out, kicking the door inwards and running through the doorway, giving Miller his first look inside.

The man on the bed was still screaming, and this close, Miller could see the face that went with that kind of terror. His eyes were wide and quickly focused on the men coming in. He was restrained on the bed, duct tape holding his hands behind his back, both his legs strapped to the legs of the bed, stripped nude. The woman was kneeling over him on the bed, also nude and rubbing his stomach. In any other situation, Miller would be smiling and watching intently. Now, he wanted to scream like the man and run.

"Help!" the man screamed. "Something's inside _meeeeeEEEEEEEEEE_!" he shouted, a spike in his pain forcing his back to bend far enough to lift him off the bed, his cries for help degenerating into mindless screams.

"What are you doing in here?" the woman said, looking up from the man's stomach. Her face wasn't one of anger, but surprise, like someone had walked in on her taking cookies out of the jar, not committing murder. "Who let you in?"

"What'd you do to him you bitch?" O'Reilly boomed, as the men circled around her. "Why's he screaming like this?"

"We were just having sex, that's all," the woman said, more confused than anything else. Miller couldn't understand why there was no fear in her voice. "That's not illegal, is it?"

"I need to get to him," Ward shouted, not daring to get close.

"It's eating me!" the man shouted, before thrashing about on the bed with a fresh wave of pain. For a second, Miller thought he saw something moving around under his stomach, but it was gone just as fast.

"Why did you do this to him?" O'Reilly said, slowly moving forward. "Why?"

"Why else have sex?" the woman asked, shrugging her shoulders.

"Big Man!" Ward shouted, trying to move close.

"Are you the police or something?" she asked, cocking her head like she still didn't understand. "I haven't broken any laws."

"The fuck you haven't," Donahue said, moving close with O'Reilly, weapons raised. "Off the bed!"

Slowly, still confused, the woman got off the bed, standing in front of both men in all her faux feminine glory. Seeing Ward's first aid kit, she sighed. "Oh, thank God! Finally, a real doctor."

"Not exactly," Ward said, running over to the man, grabbing a pair of glove and putting them on. "Probie, catch!" he shouted, throwing a pair to Miller. "Sir, I'm a trained paramedic, I'm going to help you, do you understand?"

"Get this fucking thing out of me!" the man shouted, Miller daring to look at the man's stomach, screaming himself, dropping the gloves and jumping away from the bed.

Looking down, Ward watched as a solid mass appeared to be moving around the man's stomach, the skin underneath seeming to deflate as it moved. Grabbing a scalpel that was inside the kit, he tried to corner the mass, but wound up cutting the man's stomach up, small streams of blood coming out.

"Careful," the woman shouted, angrily. "Don't hurt him, you'll hurt my child, too."

"Fuck you, you monster bitch." O'Reilly barked, as Ward tried to keep the rapidly growing mass in one place. The man's screams seemed to fade, the internal bleeding drawing valuable blood away from the poor man's brain.

"He's hemorrhaging!" Ward shouted, deciding enough was enough, cutting at the top of the man's stomach.

An ear splitting shriek sounded from the mass, and the man's groin started to shift and bulge. The genitals started to push outwards, the shriek going and going, until a tear started to run from the bottom of the stomach to the scrotum. If the man wasn't dead now, he soon would be, no matter what Ward could do. With a final push, a giant flea's head tore through the very groin, a large pair of mandibles underneath its eyes, chittering and shrieking as it forced its way out, covered in blood and intestines.

"Oh, what a good baby!" the woman screamed in joy. "Oh, you are so strong— "

Grabbing at his can, Ward sprayed the creature right in what he thought was its face, the monster shrieking, trying to use its short legs to protect itself. It tried to wriggle out of the man's body, but it hadn't finished chewing away the bone. Ward kept spraying, the fluid going straight into its eyes and digestive system.

"What are you doing!" the woman cried, her face suddenly anguished. "How can you do that to my baby?"

Without a word, Donahue and O'Reilly grabbed their own cans and gave the woman two blasts to the face, Miller seeing the same reaction in her face as her "child". The effects were almost instant. In seconds, her skin started to peel, her porcelain front crumbling to the floor, what seemed to be clear white skin turning into the carapace Ward pulled out of the body at the morgue. Her hair thinned, falling out in great clumps, as her eyes shifted from green to black. Her nose and ears fell off, landing with small thuds on the ground. With a roar, O'Reilly brought the Halligan down on the thing's head, splitting it with a great crack, black ooze spilling out to the floor, the woman falling down, dead, its limbs twitching with reflex. The young had died too, it's carapace falling off to the floor in chunks, the body hanging limply out of the man.

"Everything okay up there?" Tillman called out.

"She's dead," Donahue called back down. "We lost the victim too."

"Roger," Tillman said. "Come down when you're finished, we need you to get down here for the basement."

"Got it," Donahue said. "Big Man, Green, you both keep an eye on the bodies. Probie, come with me." Nodding, Miller barely managed to follow Donahue down the stairs, almost tripping at the bottom. "Easy Probie, we're not done yet," Donahue said, helping Miller up. "C'mon, they should be in the kitchen.

Walking in, Miller thought the kitchen was just like the living room, another magazine replica. A shining metal stove sat next to the tower ovens, a gleaming silver fridge on his left. None of the pots or pans showed any signs of use, though, and the opened drawers and cupboards had nothing in them. The entire kitchen was just a show. Gruber, DeFilipo and Anglin stood by the basement door, weapons aimed at it, waiting. "There's something down there," Anglin said. "When all the screaming was going on, I thought I heard something moving down there, like feet on pavement or something."

"Any numbers?" Tillman asked, coming over from the door, Cavanaugh still watching the outside.

"I couldn't tell, they were moving too fast." Tapping the door with the barrel of his pistol, he listened, knowing full well that something just might decide to rip through the door and pull him down. "And now they aren't moving at all."

"Alright, new plan," Tillman said, grabbing the key's to his car and shoving them into DeFilipo's hands. "Bookworm, you take Probie and Old Man, get out of here now. Take the cars a few blocks up, keep'em there until we call. Get Big Man down here too, we're gonna need him in this basement." Nodding, DeFilipo ran upstairs to grab Ward's keys, as Tillman put a hand on Miller's shoulder. "How're you feeling, Probie?"

"Sick," Miller said, leaning on the wall for balance. "That thing just burst out of him— "

"Save it, thinking about what happened only makes it worse," Tillman said. "You'll be okay, you just need a night to sleep and let your brain get in order." Looking towards the stairs, he saw DeFilipo coming down, carrying Ward's keys. O'Reilly trailed behind him, a look of victory plastered on his face. "Look, just go with Bookworm, he'll take care of you." Before he could say a word in protest, DeFilipo grabbed Miller and dragged him to the front door.

"What's up?" Cavanaugh said, keeping his eyes out the window.

"Cap said we need to get the cars moving," DeFilipo said, dragging Miller behind him. "Probie's coming with us, he needs to let his brain catch up."

"Bout time," Cavanaugh said. Cracking the door open, he ran for his truck, throwing his gear inside and starting the engine, the second engine and set of lights showing DeFilipo had gotten into Ward's car. Pulling out, he parked a few streets down, waiting for the call to pick the men up.

The men lined up outside the basement door, just like it was another run during the day, ready to move in and douse whatever waited below. O'Reilly held the axe ready, and at a nod from Tillman, slammed it into the door. It was thick, oak probably, and took time to tear apart. The door wasn't some cookie cutter home warehouse model, this was made to last. Letting the light from the kitchen stream through, he looked into the hole to see nothing inside. Carefully, he reached inside and turned the lock, the door opening to reveal a long staircase. Turning on their flashlights, they moved down the stairs, O'Reilly taking the lead, followed by Gruber, Tillman behind both of them. The stairs creaked and groaned under the weight of the men, and Tillman started to worry that they would collapse, only feeling at ease once the two men were down on the basement floor. The light from the flashlights played over the concrete, nothing on the near wall. Then a small chittering sound came to their right, and the three turned their lights toward it.

Maybe they could have been mistaken for children in a passing glance or at a distance, but up close, there was nothing human about them. One of them, a female by her hair length, was holding a small cat up to her mouth, a ring of blood surrounding her mouth and the fur around the wound. Moving his light to the left, Gruber saw a pile of dead and drained animals, stripped of their insides, leaving only fur and bones.

"Where's our momma?" the oldest asked, the most human looking of them, his skin less like carapace, his hair looking more mammalian and less like a bugs. "She said she was bringing home another baby."

Ignoring the thing, Tillman moved his light to the wall behind the children, and felt bile rising in his throat.

Four human skins lined the wall, absent of eyes, organs, even bones. All bore the same wounds as the body in the morgue, from what Ward had described, and the state of each one seemed to bear out the timeline, oldest to youngest lined up left to right. Only there were four bodies hanging, and five things were huddled together.

"All of'em?" O'Reilly asked, his light focused on the youngest, suckling on what looked like a rat. It still looked more like a flea-beast than a human, jet black eyes set on a domed head, its legs split into two, its arms ending in hooks rather than digits.

"All of'em," Tillman answered, the three taking out their spray cans and unloading on the five. Their screeches of pain were confined to the basement, as the chemicals did what they were designed to do; kill bugs. With animal shrieks, the young scattered like the bugs they were, the men trying to keep their lights on the right targets. Two of the creatures made for the stairs, only to be shot to pieces by Donahue and the others, their perforated bodies falling in a heap on the hard concrete.

Tillman, apparently, had the easier time tracking his target, the oldest. Thanks to its more humanoid structure, it couldn't make the same physical movements as its "siblings". Keeping his light trained on it, he managed to force it into a corner, spraying its face with the bug killer, the monster's shrieks turning into gurgles, before it went completely silent.

Gruber took one of the younger creatures, having trouble with it since it apparently had the "gift" of being able to crawl across the ceiling. Trying to focus the spray, he couldn't keep up with it, as it jumped to the floor, from there jumping at Gruber's head. Without a word or grunt, Gruber grabbed the thing's head, mandibles overflowing with black ooze trying to bite at him. In one swift movement, he twisted the creature's neck enough to break it so hard its face was turned towards the ceiling. Dropping it to the floor, he sprayed it for good measure.

O'Reilly was stuck with the youngest monster, a nimble little beast that was managing to jump away just as O'Reilly let off some spray. "Stay still, you unholy little fuck," he barked, thinking he saw it trying to jump for his leg. Spraying low, the monster instead went high, its mandibles ripping into his left arm. "Jesus fuck!" O'Reilly shouted, dropping the can and pointing his pistol in the thing's face. Firing off three shots, the retort of the gunfire was almost painful in such a confined space. The creature loosened its grip on O'Reilly's arm, Tillman raising his shotgun and firing into the creature, Gruber keeping the light steady. The pellets tore through the carapace, ripping strange organs and black fluids from the monster. The last shrieks were cut off, the silence instantly overwhelming them.

"Fuck," O'Reilly said, gingerly touched the edges of his wound. Picking his flashlight up off the floor, Tillman looked the arm over. The skin had been torn to pieces, and in the flashlight, it looked like the monster might have even managed to get near the bone of his arm.

"Green, get down here now," Tillman shouted, Gruber keeping his can of spray trained on the pile. Ward sprinted down the stairs, already reaching into the kit. "One of the bitches attacked him."

"Shit, it's bad," Ward said, taking out some gauze. "Scale of one to ten, Big Man."

"Twenty," O'Reilly grunted, as Ward packed the wound with gauze. "What now?"

"I've got to get him to the Doc, sir, this is gonna need some serious help," Ward said, wrapping tape around the arm to keep the gauze in place. He also brought out some painkillers and a bottle of water, O'Reilly quickly taking them to keep himself from howling in pain.

"LT, call Old Man, we have a trip to the doc to make," Tillman shouted.

Upstairs, Donahue nodded, pulling out his phone and turning to Anglin, Carroll and Vincenzo. "Search the house for anything you think's interesting, got it?"

"Got it LT," they said, moving through the house, ripping open drawers and closets, as Donahue made the call.

"Yeah LT?" Cavnanaugh asked, picking up his phone.

"Old Man, Big Man is injured, he needs to get to a medic, ASAP," Donahue said. "Get back to the house, take'em both to Doc."

"Got it," Cavanaugh answered. Hanging up his phone, Donahue went to check on the other men. "What've we got?"

"Something interesting," Vincenzo said, leafing through the magazines, pulling out a sheet of paper. "Seems she was looking into getting a home security company, already had an estimate done." he said, showing the receipt to Donahue.

"Maybe she was thinking about ordering takeout," Carroll mentioned, as he and Anglin walked into the living room. "There's nothing in the back, LT, just an empty room. The whole house stinks of a setup."

"Drag'em in drunk, don't give them a chance to get suspicious," Donahue said, nodding. "Did you find anything else?"

"I checked out the windows," Anglin said. "It looked like some kind of animal was digging around outside the back windows, but there was no damage. Probably a mole looking for food or some shit."

"Got it," Donahue said, going back to Tillman, who was helping Gruber get O'Reilly up the stairs. "The house is clear Cap, what now?"

"Controlled burn," Tillman grunted. "Pile all the bodies in the bedroom, spark it and get out."

"Got it," Donahue said, going back to the other men. "Skeptic, Face, drag the evidence up to the bedroom. Dude, get a spark ready to go."

The men leapt to action, Carroll and Vincenzo moving to the basement and going to drag the bodies up both flights of stairs. Anglin ran up the stairs, pulling out the bottle of lighter fluid and a screwdriver. The bodies of the young were relatively light, Carroll and Vincenzo having little trouble bringing them up the stairs. Stacking them at the landing in the kitchen, the two took out the lighters they both kept in their pockets and used their flashlights to pick out the puddles of blood on the ground, easily differentiated from the black ooze that came from the creature's young. Without a word, they set to burning away the blood, making sure that when the CSI team did arrive, they would only be able to find out that someone had started a struggle and had drawn blood, nothing else. They left the black ooze where it was. They knew the police would be unable to identify it with certainty.

Upstairs, Anglin was at work rearranging the sheets so that some of them were close enough to the nearest outlet. Satisfied it would look well enough like a tryst in minor bondage gone wrong he set to work on the outlet, reworking it so that it when he was ready he could make it light up the entire room followed by the entire house. Hearing a bumping noise in the hall, he turned around, seeing Carroll and Vincenzo dragging five small bodies and four skins behind them. "Everything okay downstairs?"

"Just fine and hunky dory," Vincenzo growled. "Lord knows what kind of diseases we're gonna get from this gunk," he said, trying to wipe off the black ooze that had come from the young's bodies. "You all set?"

"Just about," Anglin said, spraying the sheets with fluid. "Stack them right on the bed, there shouldn't be any bones in them."

"Yeah, that makes me feel a lot better," Vincenzo said, lifting the older bodies next to the bed. "Mama first?"

"You got it," Anglin said, Vincenzo walking over to help him move the woman's body, as Carroll carried in the three smaller bodies and the skins of the men. With a grunt, the two hefted the woman onto the bed, positioning her as well as they could to make it look like the two had just finished their business. Her arms were placed behind his head, gripping at his hair. The bodies of the young and her victims were piled up on her back, place so that, if everything went as planned, the only body that remained would be the man's.

O'Reilly was busy watching the window with Ward, cradling his injured arm carefully. He was praying fervently to whatever would listen, hoping the monster hadn't been able to carry any diseases with it. "Think I'll be okay?" he asked.

"Are you kidding?" Ward said, packing up the kit. "I heard that idiots are too dumb to know when they're seriously injured."

O'Reilly laughed a little at that, trying to keep his mind moving onto other things other than his bleeding arm. "Yeah, well at least I've actually gotten some in the past decade," he said, watching as a pair of headlights came up the street. Hearing a clatter behind him, he saw Gruber gathering their gear in his arms. "You're carrying it all out?" Gruber nodded, as Donahue pocketed a sheet of paper. "Something important, LT?"

"Could be," Donahue answered. "Muscles'll call the Doc when everything's secured in the truck, you just focus on getting out of here."

"Got it," O'Reilly said, as Cavanaugh pulled Tillman's truck up. "Okay, Green, my chariot awaits." Quickly, Ward threw the door open, following O'Reilly out the door, Gruber following closely. Once they reached the truck, Cavanaugh held a cell phone out to Ward, who took it back to the house after helping O'Reilly into the truck. Handing it off to Donahue Ward ran back, as Gruber threw the weapons and gear into the bed. Watching as the truck drove off into the night, Donahue turned the phone on and went upstairs to check on the others. Walking into the bedroom, he saw the bodies piled onto the bed, Anglin wrangling with the wires. "How we doing?" he asked.

"Almost there." Anglin said. "Everything out?"

"Yeah," Donahue said, as he heard sparks start to fly from the wiring. Quickly, Anglin worked the socket back into place, small sparks still flying from the outlet. Quickly, the two ran downstairs, Carroll, Vincenzo, and Tillman waiting. Nodding, Donahue followed the men out the door, shutting the door carefully. Running to the nearest storm drain, he dialed 911 on a disposable cell, as the others walked calmly away from the house in different directions.

"911, what's your emergency?" the operator asked. The one thing Donahue noticed, they all answered with that same tone. Flat, robotic, completely emotionless.

"Oh God, it's a fire," Donahue said, trying to sound fearful, full of emotion and panic. "Teesdale Street, oh God, the flames are everywhere!" Before the operator could respond, Donahue dropped the cell to the sidewalk and stomped on it for good measure. Without a word, he kicked it into the storm drain, hearing a small splash from below. Finished, he walked on, not daring to look back, knowing that Anglin did exactly what was needed.


End file.
